


What's Beadyesem Mean?

by succubusfrommars



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: BDSM, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Emotional Sex, Exhibitionism, Hand Jobs, Light BDSM, Multi, Mutual Pining, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:02:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 32,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23211430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/succubusfrommars/pseuds/succubusfrommars
Summary: You've been quietly and diligently working for SM's new division of their wardrobe team, international affairs, for 10 months. As 'disaster coordinator' for NCT's US promos, you've grown close enough to the members to consider them friends and enjoy every bit of your career.The problem is...someone has spilled the beans about your private life and now people are starting ask questions. Extremely personal questions. And what do you do when the perfect opportunity for a new sub falls into your lap? Say no? What about 7 of them?What can you do with only two hands and an endless supply of big purple dildos? A lot, actually.A lot.Gender Neutral Reader.
Relationships: Mark Lee (NCT)/Reader, Reader - Relationship
Comments: 9
Kudos: 43





	1. The One Where Mark Requests A Favor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark needs help and you need a long, long sabbatical in the woods to contemplate your life choices.

" _Vrrrr...click."_

The light above the hotel door handle flashes Green. Fuck. You wish it would have been Red. 

Red as if to say ' _no, stop, you're making a mistake!_ ' but alas, the magnetized hotel cards are in your favor today. It continues flashing before you realize the key needs to be removed, and you fumble with it for a second before pocketing it and placing your hand on the knob.

_Shit. Well, now it’s open._

Can...you just turn around right now, jerk off in your room, and never think about what you've just initiated? Is that an option? You don’t know who you’re asking, God absolutely isn’t listening to this one. You’re holding too many dildos and paddles in a nondescript duffel bag to be anybody God wants to talk to right now.

Fuck. You’ve dug your own grave. So...no. 

No, you can’t wuss out, because it would make you a bad friend... _and_ because you signed a social contract. That’s one of your own rules you're attempting to break. There must be clear terms of agreement before any true contact is initiated, so everyone is on the same page, and you've never walked back on one. Ever...friend or no. The document is not 100% official with no lawyers present, but you’d look like a chump in your play circle if you failed to follow through with Mark’s simple request. You’ve mentioned it to _one_ person and now they all know, so there goes your street cred if you chicken out. It would have been over nothing, too!

This is just a little friend help...right? You won’t even be getting anything out of it but the satisfaction of knowing you did it! You’re not going that much out of your way! Although...you did drop some cash on new toys for this, because you didn’t have any on hand. 

It’s just friend help, okay?

That’s what you keep telling yourself, anyway.

God. If you had just taken your vacation like you were thinking about doing last week, you wouldn’t be frozen on the spot in this hotel hallway, contemplating disappearing into the floor like a ghost. Maybe if you think about it hard enough you’ll astral project into a dimension where you said ‘no’ to this. A dimension where your Dominant honor isn't being threatened by a young man that giggles at everything like the Pillsbury Doughboy. You close your eyes and hold your breath.

…..Auuuuhg. Nope...still here.

You idiot. You had two days to say something.

Two days ago, all the international staff and the available 127 members touched down in New York for a secret recording of games and interviews that are set to release during a US promo cycle. As a key employee of the wardrobe department’s international division, you couldn’t decline on the trip after they informed you what was scheduled. You've only been working in the new department for around a year, and it's existed for only two. You're long overdue for a vacation, but being such an integral part of the wardrobe processing team makes it hard for you to leave. The department works almost entirely as a Western outreach team to make sure that there are no crossed wires when you travel. With all the US promo the band has been doing, you've been with them for MONTHS, doing nothing but fitting, tailoring, and tweaking their stage outfits. You'll be arthritic before the month is over.

You had a window, though...you could have skipped this trip because your director just came back from her own vacation and you wouldn't have to pick up all the slack anymore. You, in sleep deprived fashion, fell asleep before you could text your boss, Jiu, and of course she texted the day right _after_ you had been considering time off. You were not fast enough to evade it's swing before fate struck its hammer, and that was it.

Regardless of how you got here, all the way up until your hotel arrival on Wednesday you had accepted your reality and were excited to meet some of the behind the scenes workers for the next days' jobs. You were excited, that is, until that exact moment on Wednesday - the day Mark requested his favor. His...his goddamned _beluga_ of a solid. If it were anyone else, it would have been fine...probably. It wouldn't have felt like such a strange thing - world's colliding - if he had just asked for advice. Not to mention the fact that it was him - sweet, airheaded, giggly Mark, that asked. The Mark who couldn’t spot an innuendo with two hands and a flashlight. You have seen him blush bright red when listening to the members relay their recent sex-capades...and none of them are ever doing anything too risque to recount. The same Mark that you have a bit of a...tense, bottled attraction to. The fact that it was _him_ flipped the narrative like a pancake.

At first it seemed like it was nothing, Mark asked you to talk with him outside while he waited for the valets to figure out which luggage was his. All the other non-essential staff had gone about their business and everyone else was trying to check in. You were alone, standing together idly and watching the young hotel workers struggle to undo the pile of bags shoved into the back of the rental van. It’s standard protocol for everyone to collectively wait until it’s brought to the front desk, but he wanted his charger out of his duffel. Company rules say he needs a staff escort, so you obliged. You consider Mark to be one of the members you're closest with, although it's a weird kind of friendship. He has your Kakao and he sends you pictures of animals and memes about Fashion, because he thinks that's what you like, and sometimes you flirt a little...making excuses to touch each-other but it's always...caged. There's always a camera nearby, or a member, or some other obstacle, that's all it's ever been - friendly flirting between coworkers. That said, you're friendly with every member, of course, you travel together and you get intimately close with most of them during fittings, so it's only natural that you become friends. You occasionally flirt with a few different members, and some are more interested in it than others, but Mark has that Capybara energy about him...he's comfortable being like that with everyone. It's different with him, everything is.

In the moments before his reveal, you and Mark had been talking about mundane stuff i - the weather in New York, how excited he was to get Shake Shack again - and then unceremoniously he dropped the _bomb._

_“Do you do that...stuff?”_

You can still hear his voice, awkward...tight. It was weird, considering he has almost no social boundaries and not much phases him. It made you nervous, and you were right to be so.

You were confused by his question, of course, and asked ‘What stuff?’ to which Mark replied:

“ _Like...you know. B...whatever it is. Bedee...yesem? Like, role playing? Is that what it’s called?”_

You choked at that, coughing at him like an old car. You’re not easily flummoxed, but that did it. Anyone would be blindsided by that sort of thing coming out of his mouth. He gave you the ‘whoa, are you okays!?’ and such, but you were trying not to cause a scene and laughed it off. 

However much you deflected, Mark was determined to have the conversation and wouldn’t let it go no matter how many times you tried to change the subject. You weren’t uncomfortable, no, standing in front of a bunch of people of unknown age was just absolutely not the time or place. Anyone that has met him can tell you that subtlety is not his strong suit. While he prodded about what certain things meant, loudly, you finally relented after a bit, like the fool you are, and gave him your personal number so he could text you about it later. You assumed he only had questions, like what 'rimming' was, or something benign he could have easily googled, since he does that sometimes. You figured it would be easy, shoot him a pornhub link, throw your phone in a lake, and bing bang boom, done. You’re not shy about the details of your sexual interests but you had no intentions of letting everyone on the face of the earth find out what gets you off, much less your company staff finding out you were spreading your lifestyle onto your direct superiors in the company hierarchy. It was just going to be a quick little q&a...

Or so you thought.

Once he finished his business with his luggage, you parted ways...quickly. You barely made it into the elevator away from him before he was texting you. The phone buzzing in your hands felt like a bomb, you remember thinking so when you unlocked it to look at the first text. He started off normal, a little hey with a happy emoji...then you railed him about having some discretion. He apologized instantly. With that out of the way, you spent the next 20 minutes letting him send text after text and during that hauntingly long 20 minutes, Mark told you his story of strife and confusion. It was littered with tiny, incredibly intimate details and you were gob-stopped at how frank he was with you. Some of it was...shamefully arousing, and at the end of his tirade he asked you honestly, sincerely - is there anything you can please do to help him? He seemed so beyond desperate that it really plucked your heart strings...and you usually don't have those for people requesting to be at the mercy of your hands. Mark just looked so tired downstairs when you saw him, as if the whole thing had weighed on him for a while. At the time you rationalized it with a shrug, ' _eh, I haven't played in a while’_ you thought. Looking at it now, you'd been thinking about him like that for a long time, and him wanting your help was all the justification you needed. Now somehow, standing in front of his door, you’re not sure? You’re the unluckiest, luckiest bastard alive.

The night following your luggage interaction, you text each other on the sly. You went over what your individual expectations were, and what exactly it meant for him to call on your friendly services. He was overwhelmingly receptive to it all, and seemed sort of...excited. It was admittedly cute. Thursday morning you gave him a list of instructions, clear and concise, so that neither of you could be caught in a compromising situation by _anyone._ With careful planning, you decided sooner was better than later, and devised a plan down to the minute on sneaking around. Mark even signed your NDA, but only after asking what it was 30 times. You felt his custom contract to be too clinical versus your normal ones, but hey, this is way too high risk for him to accidentally blab about it to Donghyuck like he does everything else. You added some additional bits for him _specifically_ because Donghyuck...he couldn't keep a secret with a gun pointed to his head. Dispatch would have a _goddamned_ field day with this if they found out and at least two of the Makeup Artists are snitching for pay. That you know of _._

Mark was true to his word, though, and it was business as usual during Thursday afternoon’s fittings. He was chipper as always and _never_ quiet, and he kept up enough of an acquaintance atmosphere that nobody would suspect a thing. Everything was normal, it was like he never even brought sex in the equation. He's a pretty good little actor.

But, again, that was Wednesday and Thursday. 

Today is Friday - the day you make good on your promise.

Inhaling slowly, you turn the handle, looking around the hallways for any sign of life. It's deserted, as it should be, although you can't take any chances. All the boys are sharing rooms on this floor and if even _one_ of them saw you, it would be lights out on your career. Jungwoo wouldn’t notice, he’s always off in his own little world. If Donghyuck saw you, you would faint from stress, sliding onto the floor like a puppet with no master...you just know it. Doyoung and Yuta have eyes like a Hawk, too, they don't miss a thing. Yuta would be by your side inquiring about Mark’s room the _instant_ he saw you by it. You can hear him now:

 _‘Is Mark sick, does he need help, are you fixing something for him, where’s our normal manager, aren't you on the floor below ours, what’s that in your bag_?’

You shudder.

...Jaehyun, Taeyong, Taeil...they mind their own business but the only one who’s early to bed is Jaehyun. Ten & Winwin are still with WayV...or SuperM? You don't know, but they're not with you this time. 

That’s it, that's everyone you can think of.

God you hope everyone went to bed...you left at 2am to come up here under the cover of darkness for a goddamned reason, they better be dead asleep.

Your grip tightens on the handle. You’re sweaty.

Maybe you'll come to your senses before the door swings open, and you can run back down the hallway with your bag of friendship destroying articles in tow before any true damage has been done. No, no, if he's in there he _definitely_ heard the sound of the lock click. You can't pretend you forgot, now! The metaphorical clock ticks on. You only have so much time before it re-locks and you have to try again.

Deep breath in. Steel yourself, open the door.

_Push, push…_

The door creaks slightly when you start to open it, and you pause. There's a sound of jingling keys coming from the elevators, and you swing the door open wider in panic, almost smashing it against the drywall in the process.

_No way out._

You glide into the room with a flinch at your own clumsiness, narrowly evading whoever just shared the hallway with you for a second.

_No way out._

You exhale and clear your throat, the door creaking shut at the pace of a snail.

"Mark. Are you here?" Your voice is firm, rehearsed, although part of you is still in the elevator rethinking this whole thing. You're sure the rest of you will catch up later, but right now your heart is picking up, pre-game adrenaline pumping through your blood. You can barely hear yourself speak, and your ears are hot.

"Have you done what I asked?"

The lights in the room are off and per your instructions, a Jumbo sized candle flickers on the desk. The aroma of Lavender wafts through the air and tickles your nose. It's funny that he chose that scent, you'd told him you liked it a while back when he asked what scent you were wearing. It was just Lavender essential oil on your wrists. How sweet...

You truly can't distinguish much around it, because the hallway lights are blinding compared to the little flame. You shuffle farther into the room on blind faith anyway, duffel bag jingling by your side.

There's no response to your question, although you sense his presence. _Someone_ is in the room, that's for sure. 

Shifting out of your shoes, you run a hand down your face. You're fully surrounded in the dim, fluttering light now, the heavy door having clicked shut behind you only seconds ago. You turn and lock it, latching the safety with a quiet hand and pausing to sigh. 

_No. Way. Out._

You turn on your heel and trail your gaze across the room at that, surveying the space for play, struggling to adjust to the light change.

The suite itself is spacious, way better than what the company had set the staff up with although it's decorated similarly. Swanky, modern, eclectic enough to be interesting. There's an undeniably hipster painting of an ostrich to your immediate right, and the closed bathroom door to your left. The bathroom juts out and creates a hallway between the open area, so most of what you see is straight ahead. From where you stand the T.V, desk and the door leading to the balcony are what's visible. On the desk itself there's an opened Coke can near his laptop, a half eaten snickers saved for later, and a few other articles of clothing thrown over the chair. The candle looks out of place with all the haphazardly tossed items. Mark's phone rests on the charger near the minibar, wallet tossed down next to it and the T.V is off. The balcony curtains are tightly drawn, per your instructions, not a shred of light peeking through - the same has been done to the drapes over the balcony door's window. 'Leave no stone unturned!', you had told him.

The pants he was wearing earlier in the day are crumpled on the floor near your feet, right next to his shoes, and you bend over to pick them up with a roll of your eyes. You told him to clean...but of course he didn't. Still, the room is occupied in such a way that you would know it was Mark's even without him in it...but there's still no sight of _him._

You squint, patting Mark's dirty jeans draped over your arm. You really like this pair, he had you sew a little hole that had formed in the pocket he favors for phone storage about a week back. Too bad they were still on the floor after you deliberately asked him to clean up.

Mark's definitely in the room, you're certain, you can hear him breathing over the faint sound of rain droplets splattering the concrete on the balcony. The room is comfortably tempered from the rainy weather, the candle creating exactly the right mood setting you were planning for. The Lavender was a nice touch, you should compliment him on that choice later.

It's nice, every chosen detail is nice. The atmosphere calms your nerves and while you could have done without the mess, you feel yourself shifting further into your role regardless. Relaxed, in control - you can rationalize a bit better, now.

"Mark. Answer my question right now."

Ah, there's the rest of you...made it from the trip up. It's in your voice now; calm, present, strong.

"Y..Yes. Yeah. I did what you asked." 

His voice sounds groggy, like he had been cat napping before you came in. You take two long steps further into the spacious room, pants in tow, duffel bag feeling heavy with possibilities. 

Rounding the corner of the bathroom, you finally lock eyes with his form, glowing under the candlelight. There he lays, shirtless in the center of the hotel bed, loose fitting sweatpants on his legs and an ornate blindfold resting over his eyes. He's taken a star gazing position, fully facing the ceiling with his arms tersely by his sides. The blindfold compliments his skin just like you hoped. You picked it from the lingerie shop just for him, it's his favorite color, after all: Blue. It actually came with a matching Lace Teddie, but you have that saved for another time.

You're a little shocked at first - it's incredibly strange seeing him missing articles like he is, you're usually the person trying to put more clothes onto him. His skin looks smooth, though, and your first thought is how badly you want to run your hands over his bare chest. Arousal surges through you at the sight of him laying back so leisurely, and you wonder if he's as excited as you are to be doing this.

I mean, you're friends, yes, best 'work buddies', if it needed a label. He's one of three members that you gravitate towards most during normal work hours aside from Johnny, since your language barrier isn't as much of a factor...but you like Mark the most out of all the other idols you've worked with so far, although it's not been that many. You have absolutely nothing bad to say about any of the members, they're exceptionally nice and you consider them friends, too, but you don't have the same relationship with them as you do Mark. He's...different. There's a chemistry, a vibe between you, and it's undeniable. Some of the other, older, staff have given you knowing glances before but nobody else has ever mentioned. You had even begun to wonder if Mark had noticed, too, or if you were just being unreasonably horny for doe-eyed men like normal.

The fact of the matter is - you've wanted to touch him like this for a while, at least a few months, ever since you had a bit of a charged encounter resulting from a stray pinprick to his face during a suit collar adjustment. I was actually all very quick, Mark kept moving to talk to Doyoung who was getting his makeup done behind him, something you constantly nag Mark not to do, and your pincushion wristlet got him right in the cheek. It actually nicked him pretty deep, too, because a stray double ended needle was in there from a previous fitting. When he started bleeding more than a normal little blister amount, you rushed off together to stop it. At the time you happened to be closest to the employee locker-room, which is so unbelievably small that you were having to be...close. A different kind of close than you had until that point, the kind of close where you could feel his breath on your face while you swiped an alcohol soaked cotton swab over his little wound. You were both silent as you fixed him up, deadly so, and Mark is _never_ silent.

It was so unbelievably cliche, but you remember the atmospheric shift between you after that because it's been hanging over your head ever since.

The tension itself has always been there, that unspoken little something, but Mark is too nice to talk about it and you're too professional to try and mix work with pleasure. The locker-room took the tension from a single cloud on a sunny day to a rainstorm - the moment solidified something that was already there, named it, made you both face it without distraction. The resulting days after Mark became...slinky. Since then it's been a little hard to fit him properly for things because he always seems to be bending away from you and out of your reach so you're never too close. He always laughs it off and jokes his way around it with you in typical Mark fashion, and you've never pried about it. You ventured to think that maybe he was just getting a little tired of always having people touching him - getting his hair, makeup, and outfits tailored 5 days out of the week must be irritating. You were admittedly in denial about the incident until recently, of course.

You had only just realized before this trip that Mark's been totally fine with skinship from everyone else, it's just you that he recoils from like he's been bitten.

That said, walking into the room to see him laying there so bare makes nervous excitement bubble up in your stomach. It's even better than you had daydreamed about, somehow. You have the 'what-if' thoughts about a lot of your friends, but you've actually never played with one...especially not a work friend. That makes it seem so much dirtier...you know for a fact it's in your contract somewhere that you can't be fraternizing with the idols. That makes the sight of him laid out for you so, so much more satisfying, all the pieces clicking into place in an instant. All reservations you had out in the hallway are gone, now - you're in the room...and it's locked. You're fully present in this moment, and goddamn are you glad to be in it.

You eagerly bring yourself to the edge of the bed, the thing itself being so big Mark’s feet don't even reach the edge, and let your bag of toys hit the floor. 

"Were you asleep?"

Mark hears your voice at his feet, wondering what the thing you were holding just was...it sounded big. Like a bag. He considers what he's just gotten into with you, and briefly imagines that you'll make him learn to suck off dick with a dildo or something tonight. His face heats up and he hopes you don't notice, turning to lift his head and face where your voice just came from, hair shifting against the duvet under his head.

You watch him move around a bit looking a little out of sorts, like he's never worn a blindfold before in his life and he's having trouble figuring out where to 'look'.

Mark thinks he's found you after a second when he hears you adjusting your feet.

"Uh. Kinda, yeah. I was just breathing deeply like you told me and I guess I started falling asleep."

He shrugs, plopping his head back onto the mattress and letting his arms come up and cross over his chest. It feels weird to talk to you like this...he's exposed and you're not. You just came from outside and you had to have been fully dressed to walk around the hotel, so why did he need to be shirtless if he was just gonna strip later, anyway? Mark has never undressed directly in front of you before, despite all the times he's done it near you. He's thought about it, yeah, he'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought about a lot of things like this regarding you...but that's besides the point. This request is sort of silly in this opinion, but he wants to do what you asked him since you're doing him this favor. He just doesn't get a lot of the requests you made.

"I did everything you asked, I promise. The mood in the room made me sleepy, that's all."

Mark waves his hand in the air dismissively, like the proof is around the room. You snort at that, tossing the pants on your arm down by his head. You miss him by a mile, but he jumps out of his skin anyway, comically twisting his body away from the jeans in surprise. 

"What...what was that!?" Mark exclaims, raising his hands to his blindfold. He never wanted the thing on, anyway, and now you're throwing things at him when he can't see!?

You jump up onto the bed with him, then, moving his hands away from his face as if to say ' _no, don't move that_ '. When your weight sinks down next to him, he relaxes a bit but knits his eyebrows together in mistrust. You adjust his blindfold so it’s snug and flick his cheek.

Mark frowns when you do, moving his head away from your hand like a petulant child. You roll your eyes at him...what a baby!

The only thing Mark can think about is how much he is _not_ a fan on the blindfold so far. That he's certain of. It feels weird against his eyes, it doesn't filter out that much light if he keeps his eyes open, and he also has no idea what you're doing, what you look like right now, or where you are. Which is the point, he knows, but he's still uncertain about the idea of sightlessness.

"Those were your pants, champ. They were on the floor when I came in." you finally chuckle, unable to filter out the laugh in your tone at his dramatics so far. If he thinks this is a lot, wait until he figures out what you have planned.

Mark inhales with a regretful hiss. Whoops...he undressed in a hurry because he was late to be back up here, he had been downstairs at the hotel bar for a while, sitting with Johnny until 12AM or so. It had actually taken him a while to pick up all the shit he had laying out from unpacking, but he forgot his clothes because they were the last thing off before he got in bed.

"Oh...I'm sorry...I didn't realize-"

"Didn't realize what? That ' _clean up for me_ ' meant making sure I don't stumble on your dirty, dick smelly jeans from the day?" your tone changes in an instant, like the snap of a finger, and you smile at Mark's shift in body language when it takes him by surprise.

Mark feels his mouth gape, and he raises his hands in a gesture of defense. You've never, _ever_ been this stern with him before, not even when he's moving too much during hand hemming...and you hate when he does that!

"Well I-" he starts.

"Stop. Are you arguing with me?"

“ _Wh-?”_

"If you are, I will get up and leave right now and finish myself off in my own room. I know that this is your first training session and I agreed to go easy, but you're giving me many reasons not to."

Mark shuts his mouth instantly, and he can hear his teeth clicking together as he falls silent. He shocked, really, and can't tell if you're angry because he can't see your face. Stupid fucking blindfold.

You watch as Mark goes _totally_ still, as if he's worried even the slightest movement will be wrong. 

Yes, Mark, learn your place...you don’t know it yet, but you most certainly will! You're bluffing about leaving, a self satisfied smile escaping you at Mark's newfound attitude. He's eager to please, even though you can tell he's not entirely happy with the blindfold, because he keeps adjusting it a little over his face every few seconds. If sensory play isn't his favorite, that's okay, you just need it for tonight. You have an idea about what it is that's keeping him so close yet so far with his body, and a little teasing session should reconnect him to his sensory reception a little better.

You let your smile disappear before you speak. 

"Are you done being defiant, Mark?"

He breathes in and shakes his head yes. He wants to say no, no I'm not, but something about the way you ask him has prickles of heat spreading through his body.

"Okay, good. Now listen to me when I speak. I told you to clean up for the scene, which meant making sure everything was out of the way physically and mentally."

Mark tries to listen as intently as he can now, a frown forming on his face. You ask him if it makes sense, and he struggles to face you in blindness as well as he can, nodding his confirmation.

"Good. For future reference, it's important to me that everything is cleared and available for my use before play. You left a lot of things sitting out on the desk. What if I wanted you to fuck me over the top of the it? Am I going to sit on your laptop?"

Mark twitches at your implications, but stays quiet. He tries fidgeting with his hands, bringing his favored chewing cuticle up to his mouth in nervousness. You grab his arm before it reaches his lips and squeeze it to get his attention.

Ouch...you're stronger than you look.

"Answer me when I'm talking to you."

"O-oh! I'm sorry."

You hold his arm and wait for him to finish his thought. You're not squeezing that hard, but your grip is firm enough to belay the seriousness of your words.

"I just...didn't realize that's what you were asking me to do...I can do it better next time. I swear, I can do it better, so please don't leave because I really want your help. I don't know what to do-"

You harshly release his arm in your grip, throwing it back to him and the force clearly surprises him. He rubs at the spot your hand was on like it burned him.

Why are you being so harsh? Mark can't think of a time when you were ever this rough with him. It feels...different than being with you during work hours, where you laugh together about mundane shit and chatter about nothing. He's taken aback at your change in personality...but he finds himself more turned on by it as seconds pass. He should have known this was hidden in you, he supposes. You are a Dom, after all, you never denied it - not from the start.

"Don't grovel, Mark, not unless I ask."

Mark bites his lower lip and nods, still soothing his arm. Your voice is different, stony, and it turns him on more than he thought possible just from a _voice._

The way his teeth sink into his flesh has you grinning a little. That will be your teeth soon enough. 

"Okay, yeah. I'm really sorry." he says, a little waver of arousal in his tone.

Heh. Somehow you knew he'd like taking orders.

"I'm sorry... _what?"_ You urge.

Mark pauses, thinking. Do you want him to explain what he's sorry for, or? Oh! He suddenly remembers one of your rules.

"I'm sorry…Master."

Rule number 3: Always address you by your title.

\----

Mark groans a hot breath into your face, sides shaking as he hovers above you. His arms that hold him up tremble from the exertion of being propped up so long, elongated like he's in the ascension stage of a push-up. His knees are on the bed and he hovers over you with great difficulty. It's an uncomfortable and athletically challenging position, and you navigated him into it on purpose. Mark's blindfold is now leeching with the sweat from his forehead, little splotches of dark blue around the edges where it absorbed everything. He huffs between breaths, bangs clinging to his forehead. The candle flame shrouds him in shadowy, warm yellow lighting, and it caresses his skin like cashmere. Mark radiates warmth on his own, but this is another level... Still, you haven’t pushed him very far yet.

You like to call this position the ‘Spine-breaker’ and you can tell he never _dreamed_ it would be this difficult.

"Mark."

He straightens with a wince as he looks for your voice in blind acknowledgement. It hurts when he raises his head, and since he can't really see, he wonders if he's even really looking at your face. When you told him the name of this pose, he was unsure if he could do it, and now he's definitely sure he can't do it. He's powering through, but barely. His skin feels like it's on fire, and does he normally sweat this much? Shit...he needs to answer you.

"Yes, Master?" He whispers.

"How does that feel?"

Mark knows he must answer, but he's not sure if he should tell you that it hurts, and that he's worried he might be tired enough from it that people suspect something tomorrow. He can't just say he's sleepy if he's limping like he got a train run on him.

"I-I don't know…M-master."

You reach up and land a resounding smack on his bare ass and he grits his teeth, confusion on his face. Mark feels his arms wobbling like he might fall, but catches himself at the last second, cheeks puffing with exertion.

"What do you mean you don't know? Does it hurt, or does it feel good? _Quickly_."

You palm his tight little asscheek in your hand, sadistic satisfaction running through you when he moans out loud for the first time at the feeling, arms shaking with the struggle to stay above you.

"Both! Both...it feels like both. My arms hurt and my abs hurt from basically planking over you, and my butt is hot. I'm hot. My neck hurts."

He pauses like he's waiting for your approval, but you just let him sit in it.

"Um..okay. Uh - Earlier, when we were just talking about what you're gonna do, that was nice...y'know? We texted about it but it's..d-different with you here. Um, uh. The thing you put on me is...different."

You shift a bit on the bed. 

"Keep going, Mark. I like hearing feedback."

Mark feels himself grow a little hotter at your encouragement, and he can't help the small smile playing on his face. He's used to hearing this from you, this he likes.

Mark takes the next minute to tell you about what part feels good where, and what just plain hurts. He says that he didn't like this much but really liked that, and the more he speaks the more confident he feels in what he's saying. It feels good to take an inventory of what he likes...he never does that himself.

After Mark starts trailing off, you give him a second to breathe.

"So...you like it when I push you to your limit, huh?"

That's what you can glean from this so far, the things he liked the most we're the most challenging.

Mark curls his face in embarrassment, blushing pinker in his warm cheeks...because you're right. That's the part he's liked the most about this whole thing so far. It's driving him crazy, he's not sure he's ever been as turned on as he is with you right now.

Another thing that's driving him crazy is that your hand slowly, slowly touching his throbbing dick has never stopped moving. Sometimes you stroke quick a few times, most of it you're barely massaging. None of it has been enough to get him off, although it's just enough friction to drench him in unsatisfied sweat droplets. Your fisted hand is slick with oil, and you'd coated his inner thighs and groin area with it. He's never done that before, he only uses lotion or spit when he does it himself, but he likes how it makes him feel...dirty, almost.

You stare up at Mark's face as his little puffs of hot air hit your chest. You're massaging over him agonizingly slow and the cock-ring you'd slipped over him aids your torture. He couldn't be satisfied if he tried, not with how tight it is. He probably doesn't know that yet, but when you'd pulled the new package out of your bag and started opening it, he'd asked what it was. He must have heard the crinkling as you struggled with the plastic packaging. You were honest then, it's just a cock-ring, but now you're wondering if he knows what they're for. You have your doubts, considering he didn't even know that B.D.S.M was an acronym.

"Good...good. That's nice to hear how you've been feeling. Thank you for telling me."

It was more of a statement but Mark nods at you anyway, hips twitching a bit when his body shifts above yours.

"You're a very good Sub."

His eyebrows lift in surprise and they move above the blindfold a bit.

He...doesn't know how to respond. All he knows is that your hand and your voice make him feel dizzy, fuzzy. The feeling he used to have when he touched himself.

Normally you would be upset when a Sub dared to forego _generous_ thanks for given praise, but it's his first night. It must feel weird hearing it for the first time, hearing exactly what's happening being stated so plainly. He is submitting control to you, anyone who barged into the room right now would instantly know what was happening. Still, it always feels different to hear your role be confirmed. It becomes solid and undeniable at that point. Mark is your sub in the moment. Truth, active truth.

"So, Mark, what do you say to a compliment…?" You nudge, guiding him to the appropriate response.

"Oh...I'm...really sorry, _____. Thank you...I should say thank you. My bad."

Yikes, shit. That sounded...wrong. He shouldn't have said it like that, but he can't ignore the feeling of your hand anymore, it feels too good and everything is just so much that his filter has all but disappeared.

" _Your bad_?" You laugh, hand working over him instantly stalling.

He smiles sheepishly, an embarrassed laugh passing his lips on it's own. Yeah, he knew it was wrong.

"Sorry, I-"

"No, no. It's fine...it was just ' _your bad'._ " you mock, using your clean hand to push him fully away from you. His bad? You'll show him 'his bad'.

Mark feels himself make a sound of surprise and limply rolls onto his back, hands fumbling by his sides because he can't tell how close he is to the edge of the bed. Good, good, he's not gonna fall off. Shit...you're much stronger than you look.

You watch Mark while he adjusts himself against the pillows of the headboard, using the towel off the nightstand to wipe at your hands. You're quiet as you do so, plotting your next move on the unsuspecting man. You want to be annoyed with him, but you can't - something about him has you reeling. He's totally different from all your recent subs. He's not a sniffling, whining mess, not yet anyway. It's almost like getting back to basics: he's giving you control over him, but he's not so caught up in the power dynamic that his only concern is that. You wonder if it's his inexperience, or his general, happy go lucky demeanor that has him so eager to please. It feels so casual, intimate, almost. You like it...and you're annoyed with yourself for not being able to be annoyed with him. He's not even being a good sub...not by normal standards, anyway, you don't know why you complimented him. You just wanna shower him in your praise, despite the fact he doesn't really deserve it. You're kinda pissed at yourself for your lack of restraint with him, this isn't like you. It's just that there's just so much Mark needs to learn, and he's so willing to do it. Way more willing than you thought he would be - he listens and moves without complaint, although there is hesitation, but blind faith comes with trust. You know he trusts you so some degree, you're good friends, but you would be silly to expect to have his undying trust all in one night. 

You adjust yourself on the duvet wiping traces of oil and sweat from your bare legs as Mark faces the ceiling and massages the muscles in his arms. The pain from holding himself up is evident on his face, and he'll certainly be sore tomorrow. He'll feel better during aftercare, you've brought him some snacks and the flavor of sparkling water he said he was out of in his mini-fridge from your own. He'll be all set, later.

"Did I do something wrong, ______?" Mark finally whispers, a hint of fear in his voice.

God, he hopes he didn't ruin it. You're being really quiet. Would you ever talk to him again? What would he do then? He doesn't know what he'd do if he were stuck talking with the other wardrobe people during traveling. Every one of them but you is boring in comparison...they just want to fix his clothes and fuck off.

"Master. And yes and no." You state coolly, eyes glazing over his jittery body. He's still fully erect despite everything, so he's clearly enjoying himself through the learning curve. That's good.

"What you said was a bit informal for my liking, but I'll dole out a punishment next time you do it. Remember what I said: you have three strikes with me. After the third repeat mistake is when I teach you a harder lesson. There's no chance you'll forget it after that. Here is your first warning: do not speak to me informally. That is all."

He exhales in relief, still massaging his forearms with what little shaky palm strength he has. Fucking _Phew_.

"Now tell me, Mark," you start, tossing the rag down into the pile of dirty garments on the bedside, "Would you like to have sex with me now?"

Mark freezes, mouth forming empty letters, no audible sound coming forth but you know he's dying to answer. His massaging ministrations have stopped in their tracks and he holds his arms to himself like a shocked church going Auntie. He says nothing, but swallows.

Sex? You sort of nudged at the idea of it earlier, but this is the first time he's actually heard the word leave your mouth.

To help him find an answer, you crawl towards his body on the bed and he shrinks back against the pillows at the sound of your knees against fabric. When you reach his form his red, sweaty face is turned towards you and he waits. You grab his hair in a fistful and forcefully turn his neck so your lips are against his ear.

Ow, fuck, fuck...it hurts. He feels his hair twist in your grip and it prickles heat on his scalp.

" _Answer me._ " you whisper, syllables sliding from your tongue like a coiled snake.

Your tone makes his abs twitch, dick jumping with the motion.

"I _asked if you think you're ready to fuck me now."_

Mark struggles against your hand in his hair, a few quick breaths coming from his mouth. He doesn’t resist hard, but you know it hurts because goosebumps form on his arms.

" _N...no…"_ he whispers, _softly_ , as if he's telling you an embarrassing secret. 

He didn't think you would ever get to that part, he had fully assumed he would have cum by now and been done.

You release the grip in his hair when he fails to answer, feeling sorry that you pulled the aggression card so soon. He liked the dirty talk, clearly, but not the physical aggression. You smooth down his rumpled hair, and kiss his damp cheek several times. His face warm against your mouth but Mark shrinks away at your kisses, scrunching his face like he doesn't know what to do about it. You stop at this and he pushes himself further into the pillows behind him.

You frown. You know he's not touchy with you normally, but you assumed that was just in a formal setting. He didn't mind you touching him earlier, so what gives? Is it you?

"No?" You finally ask, ever so gently, wiping a thumb over his cheek where your lips just touched.

" _No…_ " he mumbles back, voice thin. Mark never expected you would kiss him during this, either, although he'd though about it so many times. He almost thinks he doesn't deserve it, not after how long it's taken him to try and come. He definitely doesn't deserve to feel any part of you, he wouldn't be good enough.

“'Alright. Is it ‘no' like you don't _want_ to fuck me, or 'no' as in you don't think you’re good enough?"

Wait, what? Why the hell would you ask that? How the hell did you even _know to ask?_ Mark is beyond shocked, mouth slacking on it's own. He hadn't considered the first one to even be an option...he'd thought about fucking you at least once a day this entire month. Not that you know that...but still! He raises his trembling hands and shakes them violently as if to say 'no, no, that's not it!'. 

"Not the first one, at all! And I think I _could._ I don't think I would be good enough...at, you know... _it. That's all."_

He flops his arms down by his sides in a huff and you're silent. He rubs the spot on his head where you grabbed his hair, twisting his mouth in pain. All the times he's imagined you together, he's thought about what your hands would feel like running through his hair, but this is different. Everything is different...and he feels like he's disappointing you. He couldn't bear to look at you during work if this is how it ends tonight...and why won't you say anything? He just needs to say it. Tell you how he really feels... 

"You just - you know, like. So, _so_ much more than I do, and I can't even... _get there_ on my own, I need help. I want to, but I can't. I really can't." You watch as Mark finally deflates at this admittance, voice defeated. His body language gets somehow smaller, and he looks ready to coil into himself, still playing with the mussed spot in his hair.

You pause, mulling it over in your head. This is it. This is the crux of it, this is why he needed help. You figured this was it from the start: he has no confidence in this arena and cerebralizes the entire act of sex from start to finish. Mark told you about it all, and although he didn't articulate that tidbit, you know that's what it is. He can cum but he can't feel anything more than that, and it feels 'empty', so he said. He's done within 2 minutes ...tops. Even thinking about ‘naughty’ things isn't working anymore, and although it helped at first, it just doesn't anymore. According to him, the last time he came and felt good was over _2 months ago._ You can't even begin to fathom the pent up shame he must be feeling...like there's something wrong with him. It must be hard to be a celebrity and constantly have people talking about you. That does things to your self esteem, too. It has to be hard to switch from the on camera version if yourself to just _you_ when you're alone. Sex can feel very much like a stage sometimes, and it must be hard to get out of your head when that's your whole job. You wondered in the beginning why he didn't go to the members with this, but looking again, they wouldn't have known what to do either. Even the older boys, like Taeil or Johnny. It's not a physical blockage, it's emotional. He needs release and that’s not something a lot of people really understand unless they’ve _had_ it through intense play. Hell, the others could probably benefit from it, too.

You look back to the man in question, and survey his state.

Mark rubs his arms as if he's cold, cooling down by the second and softening by the minute. The cock-ring is no match for the discomfort he's been feeling, and you’re running out of time. In a last ditch effort you move onto your stomach, laying your chest on his thighs and grabbing his dick with your dry hand. He's not flaccid yet, but definitely not as hard. That's better than nothing. He yips a bit at your position, hips trying to jump off the bed and fingers scrambling for purchase in the duvet.

What are you doing, are you going to suck him off? God, this fucking blindfold, he has no idea what you're doing.

"Wha-"

"Mark. Listen to me."

He clasps his mouth shut, a big gust of air leaving his nostrils as you hold onto him a little tighter before he can speak. You're using that voice again, the one that makes his toes curl.

“What’s the word you say when I’m being too rough, but you don’t want everything to stop?”

He puffs again, white knuckling the fabric between his fingers. What was it, what was it? God he can't think, you're so close to his dick now, you could lick it if you wanted. e wants your tongue on him more than his next fucking breath, shit, he bets you can suck dick better than he's ever had it, your lips are so pretty and...fuck, _fuck_...what was it?

“M...Mercy?”

It comes out like a question, but you breeze past it.

“Yes! And if you want to stop everything?”

Puff.

“Ruby.”

"Great! Thank you for remembering.” you praise, giving his hip a wet kiss. Mark bristles, his fists tightening in the sheets at the feeling of your lips on his skin. His reactions to everything make you hotter than you thought possible, feverish, even, and your hands aren't steady. This isn't like you, but you try to shake the feeling off with a few hard blinks of your eyes. You clear your throat before you speak.

“That’s really good! Now listen closely, alright? _You are going to cum tonight_ , even if it's not inside of me.”

Oh, fuck. Mark shudders at your words...he never thought you would ever suggest he be allowed to fuck you, much less _raw._

You start a gentle movement over Mark’s dick at that, feeling it twitch from your breath hitting it so close. His mouth opens and closes, yet no sound leaves aside from his tongue clicking against his teeth.

He can't speak, his head feels fuzzy again, almost like he's drunk.

You inhale for the next statement, lowering your voice to a low, gravely quality.

“Hear me when I say this: you're not leaving this room until you physically can't, and at that point it won't matter anyway. I mean that. I am going to make you cum so hard that the next time you try and touch yourself the only thing you'll be able to think about is me. I’m all you’ll _want_ to think about."

Mark's ears burn hot at your words. At the very least, the next time he jerks off he'll definitely be thinking about what you've just said.

You watch him with interest and the poor thing looks like he wants to argue, say something, but he doesn't. There's a tension about him, like he's too aroused to speak and you get it, you've been edging him for a long while now so he must be crazy sensitive. Mark's hips wiggle underneath your body but you pin him down with your forearms and he gasps at your brute force.

You wait to hear it, but no mercy, no safe-word. Good.

"So...Mark. What am I going to do to you?" you ask, threat in your tone. You feel the shift in your headspace, now, you're fully in the dominant role, absorbing the feeling of power he gives you like a sponge.

"M...Make me cum?"

You slap his thigh, moving your hand faster around him. Shit, fuck, your hand feels amazing. Why does it feel different when he does it? Mark can't recall a time he's ever made himself feel like this. He can even feel his legs pushing away from you, but he doesn't want to move, he just can't control himself. It's like his body is reacting on it's own. You watch his reactions - his twitchy, jumpy reactions - and wait.

Still no mercy.

"Is that a question? What am I going to do to you? Tell me right now. What is going to happen?" you growl out.

"You said...I'm going to cum…" he grunts, teeth grit as he stiffens back up in your palm. Fuck, he feels like he's already close and it hasn't even been that long.

" _Yes_ . And you _will_." you state, pausing to spit a thick glob of saliva into your hand. Using it to re-wet the oil that’s still there, you begin slicking your hand over him in quick wake-up strokes. The kind he's probably been giving himself on his own, the ones that finish the job too quick.

When he's fully hard again, you instantly stop. Mark _loudly_ groans in protest and you hush him to remind him of his surroundings. You edged him earlier, so the tease and stop should be familiar at this point and he stays quiet aside from that one. 

You're not teasing, though, this is just to change position. You crawl up to the headboard where he rests, and grab him by the shoulder. 

"Up. Lift up." you command, clean hand pushing him forward.

Mark tries to comply but it's difficult, and he feels an astonished ‘ _fuck, dude’_ slip from his mouth as he struggles to lift his sore body. It's a challenge, he gets what you meant about the Spinebreaker, now. He wonders what you're doing for a second, but hears you shifting the pillows behind him. You think he must understand what you're doing now, because he waits for you to slide between his back and the headboard. You wordlessly do so, spreading your legs around his torso and adjusting pillows behind you so it's comfortable. When you're ready, you touch his side.

"Lay back and get comfortable." 

You pat your chest and he falls back obediently, a whoosh of air coming from him when his dick bobs at the motion.

You adjust him a bit in your lap so everything you want is within reach, and he ends up with his head in the space between your neck and right shoulder. Mark's back is still drenched but he's cooled down a bit from before. Your shirt is going to be soaked in the front, but that's okay. You ready yourself, looking around the room, clearing your mind and trying to calm your pulse. The Dali style clock on the wall reads 3:12am. It feels like so much more time has passed that truly has and _Fuck_ you never thought he would be this sexy like this. It’s throwing you for a loop - your breathing is a little ragged, and your hands aren’t as steady as they usually are no matter how hard you try to center yourself. You have half a mind to do away with the artifice of it all and ride Mark until he can't walk, but you won’t let arousal get in the way of your plans. You take a deep breath, running your clean hand over your face to clear your mind.

You have all the time in the world.

"Mark...do you like this position?" you finally whisper.

He nods after a second.

"Why? Tell me why." you purr, pressing your lips to his ear.

This time he shrugs, swallowing a dry lump in his throat and placing his hands on your thighs by his sides. Typically you would order a Sub to keep their hands to themselves, but he’s been oddly contact adverse thus far and you're surprised that he's initiating. That's a big step! You adjust the blindfold over his sticky face, making sure it's still secure. You pet his hair in the sore spot from earlier and he lets you, rubbing his palms down your legs while looking for an answer. You smile at him in pride that he's letting you do that much. Maybe kissing is something to back-burner for now.

"I just...I like it, you know. You're warm behind me and stuff." he says, a little bit of scratch to his voice. He sounds embarrassed, but he answered anyway, which is good.

If Mark is interested in power play then he's probably seen this in porn, but that's neither here nor there. You like it yourself, it's a very interesting position because it allows for great skin contact while still relying on a power imbalance to get the job done. He shies away from kisses but he likes to be handled everywhere else, it seems. Intimacy is what he wants, but he doesn't seem to think he deserves it. That's okay if that's where he's at now, but you'll show him his worth in due time. You'll show him otherwise.

Reaching down you spit another glob of saliva into your palm and wrap your damp hand around him again, starting a languid movement, swirling around his tip and coming down in circular motions.

Mark's breathing pretty deep now, a bead of precum forming on his head, and he feels how slick his whole midsection is from oil and sweat mixing together on his skin. It only serves to turn him on more and he makes a mental note about putting whatever oil you used on his shopping list.

You're so happy about how this is turning out, and have to bite back the smile at the fact you're in tune with him enough to be able to guess what he likes. 

"Hey," you whisper, moving your head so your lips and teeth graze his neck. 

He flinches away from your lips again, so you pull away a bit and settle for resting your chin in the space where his neck meets his shoulder. Mark lets you do that, at least. You don't think it's because he doesn't want you to touch him, per say, you think he's still feeling a little residual self-consciousness.

Not if you have anything to say about it.

"Is this what you like, Mark?"

You make a loop with your thumb and pointer finger to switch the movement, punctuating it with a little slap to his upper hip. The slap is light, playful, and he scrunches his eyebrows. 

It the same kind of pat you give his leg when he's getting his pant ankles pinned for adjustments while sitting in your chair, and you want him to get up. He has to stop himself from laughing at it so he chooses to squeezes your thighs in his hands as a response instead, stifling the giggle while he kneads them in his palms.

His touches prickle heat through you like electricity, and it takes everything in you not to tell him to stop. You don't want to make him think you don't like it, but fuck it's hard to do this with him if he's touching you. To swim across the lake, you must test the waters first, you think. Maybe...? You keep jerking him off, trying to focus your movements in the way he's most responsive to. After a second, slowly, ever so slowly, you slide your free hand down his thigh, coating it in oil.

Mark feels your hand moving, and wonders what you're doing, but stays quiet. Everything you've done thus far was...perfect. He feels himself slowly melting into your touch as second tick on, not that he wasn't into it before...it just starts to feel different the more you touch him. Like your hands are opening him up to something he had been closed off to. He feels everything, now. Hears it, too.

Mark barely responds to your test and he's quiet otherwise, letting you lightly touch him however you want, his muscles twitching under your palms. He adjusts his head in the crook of your neck when your hand begins to roam from his tummy to his chest, then all the way up to the base of his neck.

Mark sucks in air, fear mixing in with his pleasure...are you going to...?

After a long, long pause, you grab him gently by his throat, but don’t squeeze. Mark feels his dick twitch at the effortlessness you employ in touching him, your hand barely touching his neck. He can't help but feel scared on instinct, but he trusts you and knows you won't hurt him on purpose.

"It is, isn't it? You want someone to touch you like this all the time, right? Is this what you're thinking about when you look at me from across the room during meetings? You want my hand around your neck?"

His breath hitches and his throat moves under your palm.

Oh, it _must_ be. How cute...

"It's funny, isn’t it? That I can see it in your eyes? That's how much you want this. Right? Sometimes you look at me when I'm buttoning your shirt like you could fuck me right there in front of everyone...It’s cute." you chuckle, _tsk tsk tsking_ at him while you start to move your hand faster.

Oh. Was he really that obvious? Maybe you're bluffing. The only person he knows to have noticed him staring at you was Johnny, because he's said something about it more than once.

Mark squeezes your thighs again and you repress a shudder, because you are _not_ going to break this moment's tension. This isn't about you. Mark still says nothing, breathing heavy through his nostrils, jaw clenching when you concentrate a few swirls of your palm on the head of his dick.

"Is that what you want? You want to fuck me in front of everyone?"

He shakes his head no, teeth gritting harder than before. You take your hand from his neck.

"Not much of a talker now, huh? Okay. I'll tell you what I think you want, then."

You punctuate this statement with a kiss to the part of his throat your hand was on, and he moves towards the heat of your lips this time. He wants it now, he thinks, he's imagining all the times he's jerked off to the thought of you on top of him, kissing his neck and it just feels right...he wants to feel the heat of your mouth on his skin. He wanted it from the start but now he wants it even _more_ , enough the blockage holding him back earlier melting away because all he can think about is your lips on him. If he can't see you, he wants to at least feel you a little more.

Relief floods you when he opens his neck towards your face, turning it so you have more space to fit your lips against it. A tinge of pride swells in your chest that his walls are coming down a bit, and you're smiling without thinking again. You give him a few, smiley kisses on his throat and he groans under his breath.

He's cute...so, so cute.

"Okay, okay, so imagine this for me. You're here in this room with me," you say, fisting your hand around him loosely and speeding up.

"You and I, in this position right now. I'm stroking your cock, and you're hot underneath my hands. We're so quiet, aside from your moans."

Mark nods so you know he's listening, a little moan escaping his lips as if on cue. He'd been trying to hold them back for a while, but he can't anymore, not with your breath so close to his face.

"We're so quiet," you continue, running your free hand on his chest, "That another member of wardrobe staff doesn't know we're in here. They come up the elevator, happy as a clam, they have no idea. All they need is the shirt you wore today, to fix the hole in the armpit for you, remember? We all have keys to your rooms just in case."

The scenario is fake, he had to physically _get_ you a spare key to his room, yet he nods anyway, legs twitching at your hand's varying speed on his cock.

"So...which one is it, Mark? The feminine one with the cheek mole? Ellen?"

"No…" he hisses back. She pricks him with pins too often and never laughs back when he says something funny.

"The one with the bangs that always smells like coconut and raspberries? I know you don’t know everyone’s names."

No again. She's not his type, either.

"A guy, then. What about the one with the retro glasses? He's sweet...Kevin something. Moon. I bet his skin smells like vanilla when he sweats because he works at that foreigner’s cafe part-time...he always smells like those syrups. Do you think he would smell good up close when he fucks you?" You muse.

His pulse quickens, somehow, heart thumping in his ears. How did you know to mention him? Mark finds himself reluctantly nodding yes, unsure of what you'll say, but eager to hear you keep going.

You kiss his neck one more time and you speed up your hand at his confirmation. You've actually suspected him of checking out Kevin's ass before, but at the time you just thought he was looking at something on Kevin's clothes and ignored it. Clearly you were wrong.

"Okay, so...Kevin opens the door to this room, unaware we're on the bed together...just like we are now, you spread eagle in my lap, cock twitching and exposed. You're mine, like this. At my mercy. Kevin walks quietly into the room...he just needs the shirt, after all. Ho, hum."

You bat at the air dismissively with your free hand. You love teasing through story build-up, it always fills you with a sort of smug self satisfaction...although you probably don’t have much time to be doing so. Not with how hard Mark is breathing.

"He doesn't see it on the chair, oh no, it's further in the room!”

Mark listens with rapt attention now, it's like your words are the most interesting song he’s ever heard. He’s panting, he can hear himself, but he doesn't even care anymore. He wants to hear what you're saying more than anything else, you breath tingling his ears. He still can't see, and the loss of sight is driving him crazy, but he likes it. He hated the blindfold first but now he gets it, all he can do is imagine what you're saying and soak up the bodily sensations crashing onto him in waves.

“Kevin steps closer, looking on the floor. No, not there. He still doesn't know. On the couch? No...not there, maybe...wait, what was the sound? A moan? Is someone in here? Kevin turns towards the bed looking for the noise and gasp! We're right here. You're mine. He sees it and he knows."

Mark groans, turning his head from your lips on his ear and squeezing your thighs yet again. He pants in succession now, a moan or two slipping past his parted lips but he doesn’t protest in the slightest at your suggestions.

Nice. Exhibitionism confirmed.

"So what would Kevin think, I wonder? Would he be hard at seeing you like this? Would he panic and forget what he's doing, run away without the shirt and go back to his room? Do you think he'd touch himself to the thought of us together like this?" you continue painting the story, your tone taunting like a rotten bully.

Mark nods quickly, like he's certain that's what he'll do. That's what he wants him to do...

"You want him to think of you as you are now...as my bitch? Would you want him to join in? I’ll bet he’s very gentle. Kevin’s good with his hands, he hand sews way better than I do. Would you like to feel his hands on you, too?"

He can't respond now, he's too close.

Much to Mark's dismay, you start slowing your hand down so he can hear you, moving him away from the edge and back into a clearer headspace. You still have a bit of juice left in the sadism bank, and you're determined to expend it before the night is over.

Mark wiggles in your grip like he hates that you're teasing, but stays quiet aside from the occasional moan.

"Tell me what you want." you whisper, finding his earlobe and nipping it with your teeth.

" _I...I want…_ " he's out of breath, now, but he tries, " _I want to be able...to fuck...you...and-_ "

He coughs dryly, inhaling a quick little breath.

" _I want to...be able to make...you cum…_ " he finally spits out.

"Me?" you laugh, "I thought _you_ needed _my_ help to come. I can get by on my own."

" _Yeah but...I want…_ "

You're sure his eyes are squeezed _unbelievably_ tight under the blindfold.

" _I want to make you...feel like I feel now…_ "

"You want to dominate me?"

Huh. That's...interesting.

" _Kinda…_ " he finally peeps.

"Yes or no."

He bites his lower lip and moans when you speed up even faster, legs scooting himself further into your chest on accident.

" _Yes! Oh my god, Yes! I want to learn...how to do this…_ "

Mark hangs his head a little, abs twitching wildly, his moans clustering together the faster you move your hand. He has 20 seconds left, if that. You lean your lips over to his bent neck and shower it in licks, kisses, and bites. He moves his head back towards the heat of your mouth, gasping at a particularly harsh bite.

"So you admit it, then, you want to fuck me? You want to fuck me as hard as you think you can? Then you want me to teach you how to make others submit for you?"

Your heart is hammering in your chest, and you can't even hear yourself - this is your mouth on autopilot, asking all the things you've been wanting to all this time.

" _God...yes, yes, yes, that's…urrrgh-"_

Mark outright growls now, interrupting himself. You have to slap your hand over his mouth and shush him with a chuckle, moving it away only after his quiets a little. Doyoung and Jungwoo are..two doors down? You don't even know how close you are to anyone else. You might even be sharing a wall. Fuck.

“ _Quieter, quieter…keep going.”_

Mark nods at your words, head trembling when you release his mouth.

" _That's what I...want..."_

"Is that what you think about when you touch yourself?" You jeer, biting at his jawline.

He nods reverently this time.

" _Yes, it is...ugh...please…"_

"Please what?"

He doesn't know...they never do. You just can't help but ask, because the sound of him struggling to talk through pleasure makes you want to giggle.

" _Please I-"_

Mark jolts just a bit, hips starting to move to match your speed.

"Mark, are you fucking yourself in my hand?"

He is, of course, but he's about 10 seconds out now, so he can't really respond. It's more of a statement, you just want him to hear it, hear what hes doing so he remembers.

" _Fuck...fuck, fuck, fuck...this...I think-"_

"You think you're gonna cum?"

 _"Y-yes."_ He chokes out.

You speed up your hand for the final push, and Mark throws his head back against your shoulder, stretching his neck wide. Mark's warm, tan skin is shiny with sweat, glistening under the candlelight in such a fixated, pointedly erotic way you can't help yourself but to grab him by the hair with your free hand and pull him into a hungry kiss.

He gasps in surprise when your tongue slides into his mouth, moaning as you unsuccessfully try to smother the sound of his first edged orgasm against your lips.

Mark tries to kiss back when you initiate, shaky hands coming up from your thighs to find your face. He has to twist a bit to make it work, and he grabs your cheeks with sweaty palms, trying to kiss back so you know just how much he's wanted to do it all this time. He's panting too hard, though, and can't breathe through the kiss. Mark pulls back, stops and starts multiple times, coming back for more nonetheless. He can't believe you're kissing him, now, your tongue sliding against his feeling so much different than he could have imagined on his own. You taste like Peppermint and Jasmine, you must have just used that toothpaste earlier that he always sees you use in your day bag. Your tongue clashes with his, dancing, sliding, he can't get enough.

Mark is way, way louder....nay, more _reactive_ than you thought he would be, and it forces the heat of arousal to swirl around in you body like angry bees, heating up your face. You're not new to this feeling, but it's been so long since a playmate has brought you to such a frenzied state of arousal.

You keep the jerking motion he's been responsive to through his first climax and after about two more deep kisses he pulls away with a start, a rugged gasp of your name tumbling from him. His hips lift off the bed a little, and he continues fucking into your hand, head thrown back like before, adam's apple bobbing. _Jesus_ he's so much louder than you thought he would be, and if he calls your name any more desperately some of the boys down the hall might end up hearing it.

_In their sleep._

You slap your palm over his mouth in panic and he whines into it... _loudly._

It feels good, overwhelmingly good, and Mark is unable to control all the sounds coming from his mouth. He can hear how loud he's being, and your hand over his mouth is clearly a signal to stop, but he just fucking _can't._

Mark's head struggles underneath the grip of your hand over his mouth, breathing heavy through his nostrils. His body shakes in your arms, and your name leaves his mouth in a muffled prayer. There's the start of orgasm number two! Wow...you never thought he would be capable of that.

Fuck, Mark can't breathe, he can't think, he feels like everything is happening all at once and yet not at all. He feels blocked, just like the last few times he's touched himself. Something is wrong...wrong, wrong, wrong.

You've stopped moving your hand now to look down at his dick. A thin string of precum stretches from the head and off onto his stomach...even all through that he didn;t actually release much.

Mark whimpers pathetically, continuing to move his hips into your unmoving hand. Nothing happens, of course - the cockring is still on.

Mark shudders like he's cold, after a second, one last long moan ripping from his throat. He sounds tortured and you're sure he is, moving himself into your hand for friction. You've stopped moving, but allow him to push through the broken full body orgasm the best he can, kissing the parts of his face and head that are available. A moment passes, and he finally flops back onto your body, cock still angry. You finally let him go once he's clearly moved past it, looking at how red and bruised he looks from edging. He's...swollen, almost.

You take your hand off his face and keep kissing his cheeks to calm him down, his skin salty with sweat. Mark makes a sad, whiny sound, like he's confused, chest still heaving. He laughs in disbelief, and it's nothing like his normal giggle, kicking his legs out and cursing under his breath afterwards. He's about to cry, you can tell. You've only seen him do it once, out of frustration after a hard practice, but just by the vaguely obscured look on his face, you can see that's where you're headed. All of your built up arousal flushes out of you in an instant, concern and care for him preoccupying every corner of your mind. If he does come up to that blockage, it's your duty to help him through it.

" _I...I still can't come…"_ he huffs, his voice, ever so small, has the strain of effort to not cry laced in.

"Aw, Mark…" you muse, hugging his torso. You try not to sound too patronizing, but he really has no idea. You suppose you should have known the cockring would be an entirely new sensation, he didn't even know what it was, not really. A wave of regret pushes over you at making him upset, you didn't think his emotional reaction would be like this. You thought he might cry _during_ , not in a between moment!

Mark struggles in your grip for a second, wanting to get away and go cry alone, but he can't...he's too tired. Mark doesn't want you to see him like this, either. You've seen him cry, yeah, but this is different. This is way more intimate than him crying over missing a move during practice and getting yelled at. He wanted to fight you off in embarrassment, at first, but chooses to ragdoll in your arms when you don't relent. Why bother? This is humiliating. He bets you won't even be able to look at him now...he couldn't even do it with all your expert help...you tried so hard for him, too. What the fuck is wrong with him? Is his dick fucking broken? He'd been thinking that for a while - that happens, right? God, he doesn't even fucking know.

"Mark, Hey. You...you just did...you came dry."

You can't see his full expression with the blindfold, but god he looks distraught. He clearly can’t hear you through the intensifying feelings.

"Okay, okay. That was a lot. Come here…"

You lift the edges of the blankets off the bed and wrap it around both of you, trying to calm him down by pressing him further into the weight of the duvet.

"Seriously, it's okay, it's really okay!"

Mark sniffles, turning his face away from you in shame. You gently take the blindfold off, adjusting his hair from where it clung to the fabric and tossing the sopping article onto the floor.

Marks feels you move the blindfold off his face, lifting his head a bit so you have access, but he doesn't dare open his eyes. He doesn't want to look at you right now...no, not like this.

You survey Mark's face minus blindfold and his eyes are screwed shut in pain as he struggles to face away from you. You hold him in your arms and he lets you, but winces when his still sensitive dick brushes against the fabric of the duvet when you move your legs around him. You apologize softly in his ear, and he huffs at you, face still scrunched like he’d rather be in a dark hole than in your arms...or with anyone at all, for that matter. You wonder if it's you, or the situation, and it hurts you to see him like this. Despite it all, he still doesn’t say the safeword. Still, he's in the hole, and you need to help him - this is the make or break moment.

"Mark. Hey."

He's listening but is silent. You can sense his energy and it feels...angry...frustrated.

"You just had two full body orgasms back to back. Not many people with dicks can do that without actual ejaculation."

It's deathly quiet while he processes, the candle flame sounding as if it were amplified through the tension. You're tense, now, waiting for his response...if he can even give you one. 

" _Wait...what..?"_ His poor voice is a croak now, and he's still holding back tears. What are you talking about, he didn't come at all. He doesn't understand what you're saying, none of this makes any sense, and oh god, what if he's like this forever, and now you know that he's like this and, and-

"If you need to cry, you can, I'm right here."

Achy, wheezy, controlled...silence. Mark still refuses to look at you, but breathes through his nose with sharp inhales.

"Okay, look. Mark...I just want you to know that you aren't...broken. Isn't that the word you used while we were texting? You're not. There's nothing wrong with you." You confirm, tightening your arms around him in a hug. It breaks your heart to see him so beside himself with grief over his problem, especially considering you haven't actually helped him fully solve it, yet. You feel like it's your fault for taking your time, but you thought that's what he needed! You're seeing now that this was a little more involved than you had initially thought, all the residual stress of the last few months having surmounted on his psyche. It's very rare that a Sub have a breakdown with you, but it's not your first time, thank god.

It's all you can do to gently kiss mark on the cheek - tenderly, apologetically - and although you thought he might resist the onslaught of feelings more, Mark really does start to cry when your lips make contact with his skin.

Your kiss acts like a switch, and Mark can feel his resolve break at how tender it is, how warm your mouth feels against his face. A sob breaks through, bubbling from his throat, and he lets it...he can't fight it back anymore.

When he starts to cry, you feel your own throat tighten at the sadness dripping from his hoarse, uncontrolled voice. All you can do is shush him through the beginning of it, because this is his time, not yours, although the pain he's feeling makes your heart ache anyway. This is it, though, the emotional release you were anticipating is right here. It starts off with a small ‘ _oh, god_ ’ before he’s actually crying audibly, however faint it is. You sway back and forth with him while he goes through it, holding him tightly while he hiccups a few sobs. He's a mostly quiet crier, a boohoo here, a boohoo there, but he stays mostly silent, angry tears of frustration streaming down his cheeks and neck.

You're not sure how much time has gone by, but it can't be that long. After about what feels like 10 minutes, Mark seems to be slowly calming, and you put your lips near his ear. He’s still limp in your arms, the occasional sob making him twitch in your hug.

" _You know,_ " you whisper, " _You're actually capable of something most people with dicks can't do without a lot of training, so that's actually really cool for you…_ " 

He giggles a bit through a gurgle of tears, wiping at his nose with the back of his hand and opening his eyes to look ahead. Mark blinks away the remaining tears and squints from the new light after having been blindfolded so long.

You survey his face as he finally looks around, and his round, cloudy eyes glitter from tears. He's puffy, pink in the face and wet cheeked from sweating and crying. He looks a mess, but you're glad he was able to have this. You let him have this moment, and it's quiet for a few minutes while his sniffles clear up.

Mark finally turns to look at you, and it's the first time in the night he's been able to see your eyes. He finds it hard to meet your gaze at first but when he does, he sees that your eyes are a little misty with an emotion he can't quire place. It feels nice to see you now, though...and he feels overwhelmingly relieved. Like a weight has been lifted...light. You stare back down into Mark's pretty brown eyes, and your heart soars when he makes a little smile at you, relief evident on his face.

You feel oddly close to him in this moment, in this blip in time, and although you’re not really done yet - you don't want it to end.

" _So...that was like, what - cumming?_ _That's pretty cool..._ " Mark finally whispers.

"Oh, yeah. Absolutely. There’s different kinds of orgasms.” you state matter-of-factly.

“ _Huh.”_ he flat-lines, voice a worn out squeak.

“Actually...I can show you the others, if you'd like.... May I take the ring off?" you nudge, hoping not to overstep after his little release. You don't think it would be too much, but if he's not interested you can move on to aftercare.

Mark seems not too concerned, actually, nodding laboriously slow in consent of your suggestion, moving the covers off himself and making disappointed face at his dick when it’s free. He's still pretty hard, somehow, and you wonder if it was the humiliation that kept it that way. You're a little surprised, honestly, but pocket that thought for another time. You gently, ever so gently slip the ring off him so you can toss it away, kissing his cheek and apologizing while you inch it off of him. Mark winces through it like you're treating a paper cut, teeth grit in pain. He must be _sensitive_.

“Mercy?”

He shakes his head no, sniffling a bit.

"Okay. I'm gonna make you cum like you asked, now. Are you ready?" Your voice is gentle and reassuring and he nods instantly, ready to push past it. 

"Okay, then. Get comfortable again."

He does so, smiling a tired, sheepish grin when he meets your eyes in the time it takes to scoot around in your lap. He's a little...excited, honestly. He feels euphoric, now, and he's not sure why. Like he's on a cloud. You smile back at him and Mark does a soft, croaky version of his signature giggle. You give him a second to adjust fully and he’s right back where he started, back of his head resting in the crook of your neck.

 _"Oooookay."_ You whisper with finality.

Time to prove he made the right choice in coming to you for help.

You grab his dick as gently as possible, and Mark twitches with a gasp, feet shifting in the covers uncomfortably. You start a slow, slow movement to bring him up to the edge again. You start to count to 60 in your head.

1, 2 , 3...

Mark wiggles in sensitivity, eyes closing at the feeling, but he doesn't ask you to stop. You’re gentle, very slight with your grip, and it still doesn't take long before he’s huffing like he did when he was close earlier. You're only at 13 seconds when he makes the sounds of pleasure he did when he climaxed the first time. This time he holds back his chants of your name. He's in his head again, but you don't blame him - he's still too loud, though.

"Hey...do you want to kiss again?"

God, yes, Mark thinks. He can already feel how close he is to cumming and it's only been a handful of seconds. All he can think about is moaning like a bitch, and he doesn't want to wake up the whole hotel floor...if he hasn't already. 

At your words, Mark doesn't hesitate for a second before he turns towards you, reaching to connect your lips again. The kiss is tender this time, and you can feel his face bunch up like he wants to cry again...he doesn't, but you can tell he's still very overwhelmed. You understand, you are a little, too - this is so much different than what you normally feel with your Subs, and you briefly wonder if it's him that's the reason why. It must be.

You pull your mouths apart to speak to him and his breath ghosts your lips. He should know what you're thinking, you need to tell him exactly how he makes you feel.

" _Mark...you...are so sexy...to me…"_ you whisper, moving in to speak between open mouthed kisses. 

Mark shifts uncomfortably, but relishes in the feeling of your lips connecting. He doesn't believe you at first, but part of him doesn’t want to make you stop. Do you really...think he's sexy? All this time, you were thinking about him like that, too...God, that makes this so much hotter. The hair on the back of his neck stands up when you run your tongue along his lower lip, nipping your teeth at the flesh. He feels...happy.

" _I'm serious...I love...to watch you dance...and your laugh...is infectious…"_

He breathes in your praise, a grin in his kisses and a small 'thank you' coming from his mouth in between heavy puffs of air.

You're absolutely giddy that he's so receptive to your praise, and you want nothing more to rain it down on him as much as possible. Youtake your free hand and roam it around his body like earlier in the night, feeling the muscles in his legs jump from hypersensitivity when you run your hands along them. When you finish singing praise to him, you pull him in deeper and Mark lets you kiss him as deep as you like, fully moaning into your mouth by the half minute. 

" _Can you...cum for me, now_?" you manage to ask, in between breaths.

" _Mmm….mhm..uhah…"_ he grunts in affirmation, mouth getting slacker by the second.

You finally break the wet kiss, letting him make his noise freely as your lips find the spot on his neck that had him twitching earlier. He likes the space between his ear and his neck kissed, and it makes you wonder if he likes to get fucked from behind when someone does it, but you swallow the thought. Seconds pass and each pump of your hand is like a push closer to the wood chipper. Mark jitters and jolts and finally at the 35th stroke - 46 seconds - he moans a long, drawn out sound before his body locks up.

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck._ He can't see, he can't hear, all the feels is _amazing._ His vision goes white around the edges, and pleasure rockets through every nerve ending in his body. There's a feeling of tension, the snap of a thread, and a divine breaking of it all at once.

You watch as Mark tosses his head back one last time, raking his nails down the bedding as a long stripe of cum shoots from his dick and onto his stomach. It's thick and rope-like, and it coats part of your hand as it pulses out of him in waves. You're overwhelmingly aroused at his display, now, yet there's not much you can do but let the heat settle into the pit of your stomach and watch Mark play out your every fantasy about his O-face in real time. He looks different now, his current expression is entirely different from his orgasm faces earlier, which were mixed with pain and struggle. This is his true orgasm face - eyes clamped, mouth slack, panting, euphoria. The flames from the candle freckle his face in dots of shadow and you're almost angry for denying yourself the rights to seeing it in full illumination but...you'll see it eventually. Probably.

Mark whines for you to stop, but he doesn't cry mercy so you don't relent in the slightest, milking him for all he's worth, trying to make sure it at least gets it on _him_ and not everywhere else. You're mostly unsuccessful, but choose to ignore it in favor of reaching down with your other hand to fondle his balls and work everything out of him like he's been needing. If you're gonna get it everywhere, it may as well be everything, right?

In a flash Mark's arm shoots up on instinct and he smashes his palm into the wood of the headboard, fingers white from strain. His arm narrowly misses your head and you laugh down at him in mild concern, but he’s not even on this plane of existence right now, face twitching and eyes rolled back.Mark pants and groans, a stream of ' _ah, ah, ah's'_ coming from his mouth like he's on the edge of another breakdown. He hits the headboard again, this time with his fist, knuckles crashing into wood with great force. He's been very, very pent up, so it takes him a while to break through the fog before he's pushing your hand away, chanting mercy and finally softening, sticky strings of cum connecting his cock slit to your hand.

You're both limp afterwards, you from unspent arousal and him from every bit of it being utilized for the next 3 weeks.

Mark pants...you pant...and it's still.

You find yourself smiling proudly down at him, but when you find his face, he’s gone, eyes glazed over as they flick around the room, looking but seeing nothing. There's a satisfied, Mark-like little smile playing on his mouth and you're so, so happy to see it that tears of relief prick your eyes.

You fucking did it.

You swallow, trying to calm your breath, taking a look around the room to take in the energy from the aftermath. It's quiet, aside from the flickering of the candle flame, your unison pants, and the raindrops on the concrete balcony. There's not a stir in the air, the room is still now after so much commotion. It smells like sweat, sex, and Lavender essential oils. Mark trembles in your arms like he’s cold, and you’re tired right along with him...tired - but triumphant. You brush your clean(er) hand over his sweaty body to try and keep him grounded, passing over his twitchy muscles with your shaky palm.

" _Mark_?" you whisper, quiet as a mouse, massaging his limp, sweaty arm.

" _Y...yeah_?" he croaks after a long, tired pause. The sound crawls from his chest with great effort, and it almost doesn't sound like him.

" _Do you want to sleep in my room? Your bed is a...mess, now."_

His eyes are foggy and he's not totally cognizant of what's happening, but he looks around and pats the bed. It's wet, of course.

" _Um...Can I? Is that...cool? Like...with you...y’know?"_

You chuckle. Everything he said was a faint mumble and while he doesn’t really have any other choice, he’s still concerned about you. How sweet.

_"Yeah...that’s why I’m offering...but we need to get you cleaned off first. This is fucking nasty."_

\-----------

Once showered, dressed, fed, and calmed, you check the time.

4am. None of the other boys will be awake at this hour, unless they're already in their shared rooms screwing around on their phones. You doubt it, though. Mark usually ends up sharing, but he won a game of rock paper scissors with _someone_ and got the lone master suite to himself this stop, which he then ruined by spraying cum like a fountain and sweating everywhere. He did so with your help of course, and now it's your duty to give him a bed to sleep in that's not drenched in cum. Covering your tracks as well as you can, you try to forge his handwriting and make a laundry pickup note on the door for the housekeeping crew. On the way out, you flip on the DND light for the members so they know to leave him alone until Lunch...not that he'll be in his room until then, anyway.

You swipe all his early morning necessities and toss your shoes on, slipping yourself back into your own tossed articles of clothing. You didn't strip like he did, but what little of what your clothes that came off absolutely cannot be found on his floor in the morning. Sliding out of his room with Mark pressed to your back, you both tip-toe to the elevators, bolting towards the doors when they're in sight in your rush to get him to your room on the floor below. He can barely keep up, but you need to move fast. You silently pray you don't meet a late night snacking member in the elevator, but it doesn't happen. 

Mark is on your heels as you jog down the hallway towards your room, key card in hand. He's carrying his bathroom stuff and a change of clothes, just in case pretending to have gotten up before anyone else is on the agenda tomorrow morning. He looks _destroyed -_ a dead man walking. Normal wake-up call for the boys coming off jet-lag is around 10am, so he won't get much sleep, but it will be a _hard_ sleep, for sure.

You exhale at your door, opening it to the darkness inside and closing it behind the both of you with a click.

"Get comfortable...sorry for the mess." you say dismissively, waving your hand around the space.

Your room is smaller, he thinks, but it smells like you and he likes it. He can see all your stuff around the room when you flick on the bathroom light to brush your teeth. The room is significantly smaller than his, actually, and he wonders if the other members are having to share a small space like this right now. Even though he's bone tired, he's polite enough not to mention it's size.

" _So..?"_ He whispers after a beat while setting his stuff down on your smaller, decidedly crappier desk. He scoots some of your outfit sketches over and smiles down at one that looks like it's for him.

" _I'm naw wowied abow it, just get en bed_."

you say around the toothbrush in your mouth.

He feels his face turn pink at your tone, smiling his little Mark-ish smile and doing as told.

Bone tired and raw, the both of you finally pick sides, flop down on your moderately sized bed, and try to fall asleep. You don't say anything after 'goodnight' and let Mark have his space while he adjusts. Mark doesn't initiate cuddling when you slide into the bed next to him, although he wants to. He settles on letting your legs tangle in the sheets, keeping himself open to you in case you decide you want to. Laying on his back with his arms stretched above him, his legs sprawl out, entangling yours under the covers as he gets comfortable. He finally feels...freed, and the feeling seeps to his bones. He's so tired from it, too. Mark exhales deeply a single time before he starts to doze and you’re surprised he made it as far as he did. It doesn't take long before you notice he's drooling on himself. 

You're not sleeping just yet, though, you’ve got other things on your mind. Namely...what's on the agenda for your next scene. You stare at the trendy paint job on the ceiling and plot, following the cool toned geometrics with disinterest. Public humiliation, exhibitionism, threesomes? He seemed vaguely interested in _all_ of it. _Fuck_ you hope this wasn’t the end. It would be a hell of a high note to finish on...but what potential he has. This was really fun, and you have never played with anyone who made you feel quire like he did tonight. Part of the fun is in the training, and all the players you’ve been with lately have been too _seasoned_ , you think. Too set in what it was they wanted from you. You need to start from scratch...or just need to stop fucking the same people. Mark is new and he wants to explore, and your chemistry is clearly off the charts based on how quickly he was able to rile you up. You're not known for lack of composure as a Dom, quite the opposite.

It's also worth noting that big picture, the issue Mark had been having was a common one. You weren’t that concerned about the resolution of it, stress can cause pleasure blockages. It's like your brain telling you something is off. What you're really concerned about, is how he knew about _your_ sexual status. That’s what gets you. What was it...Gossip? Word of mouth? A really, really good guess? Some of the other wardrobe workers talk - with all the staff parties you've been to, gotten drunk at, and played never have I ever? The other employees certainly have a lot of ammo...you’re just not sure which one pulled the trigger. You know for a fact one of the other stylists knows you're a Dominant. You saw her at a B.D.S.M playground event 6 months back and she looked like she'd seen a ghost. She was a voyeur, according to her sticker. You never mentioned it to anyone, but you have your suspicions on her...place the blame to deflect it, you guess. She never meets your eyes anymore.

You sigh.

You haven't worked this goddamned job for long enough to be making enemies, yet.

Although...it could _also_ be that Mark ear hustles...all fucking the time. He'd never admit it, and hasn't, but you've caught him eavesdropping too many times to count. _Especially_ in English conversations. It's so rare to hear them that you find yourself honing in on them out of curiosity, too. You've had a few conversations about it while on the phone at work, but in hushed tones and vague implications. He could have been listening and connected the dots. Once again, fact that he didn't know B.D.S.M was an acronym shoots that theory in the foot. That's YOUR bad.

You truly don't know how he found out but he did, and the cat leapt out of the bag and all but sauntered away down the street. 

You never got the chance to ask him, he had danced around it, although you’re sure he’ll tell you in the morning. Either way, this was a _very_ fun night of play. You’ll be damned if you don’t get a repeat now. 

'Poor Mark. He has no idea!' You think, turning towards him and smiling wickedly at his gentle sleeping face.

You never even pulled any of the new toys out of your bag! Just the ring and-

...

_Oh shit, your bag!_


	2. How the fuck did you miscount that?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You come to terms with something radical and almost have an early life stroke in the process. It's been an eventful day.

_ Fuck. Fucking shit all goddamned fuck. _

The _bag_.

It's still in the room, unzipped, unmistakably freshly packaged,  _ large _ toys glaring out and all. You washed off what was used and put them back in there, but didn't grab the bag itself. 

You slap your hand to your forehead in disbelief.

Nobody will  _ ever _ mistake those shiny purple dildos and your retractable crop for anything but what they are. There’s no ‘it’s a back massager!’ in this scenario. Oh,  _ god.  _ If any of the members see that during the day tomorrow, your goose is absolutely cooked. Donghyuck would run outside and shout it to the street like he’s becoming a father for the first time.

'Mmmmmmmaaaaarrrkkkk goooooottttt laaaaaaiiiddd!'

You can hear him clear as fucking day.

Pull your ass out of the oven, because you're  _ done. _ You break into a cold sweat, sleep instantly shaking itself from you. What if Mark isn't back in his own room before one of the older members wants to wake him up? 

Oh Jesus, oh _no._

Mark's dead asleep when you turn to look at him again, his poor face still puffy from his crying and the exertion of the night. You want to wake him up and make him sneak with you, but you can't.

He needs this sleep, he earned it...you're on your own. You slowly take the covers off your body and slip out of bed, pausing to make sure Mark stays asleep while you do so. He does - he's out like a light. You forego shoes for more sound cover as you grab the extra key card he lent you off the nightstand and slip out of the door. The ground outside is nasty, god it's gross on the hallway carpet, but you can't risk your footsteps being heard. The lights down the hallway are dimmed for the nighttime, and you slink through to the elevator without passing a single person.

Get in, get out.

That's what you tell yourself when you round the corner out of the elevator and onto the floor six - the member's main floor.

Get in, get ou-

" _ Ow, shit _ ."

Oh, god. Oh...no, oh god, oh no. What the hell is happening, now? Why is all this bad shit happening after so many good things?

"Whoa, Dude, are you okay?"

You look up to see whose chest you slammed your entire face into, but you already knew from the voice, you knew the second you heard his surprised exclamation.  Your blood runs cold and you jump back out of his arms when he tries to steady you - just out of his reach.

"Heeeey, _Johnny_! What are you doing awake? It's so early!"

Your voice is dripping with reasonable suspicion and you cringe at how utterly opposite of nonchalant it sounds.  You forgot about Johnny in your head count earlier - How the fuck did you forget about him?

Johnny looks back at you in confusion, standing a foot away, still in his normal clothes from yesterday like he never went to sleep. He's...disheveled, one hand in his jacket pocket and a glassy look in his eyes. 

"I...I was. Uh. At a bar. Just got back. I...forgot something - downstairs." He says disjointedly, punctuating 'downstairs' with a goofy finger to the elevator.

Ah. He's drunk. You've only ever seen him like this twice - once during a company dinner and another when you were dropping off some tailored street clothes to the dorms and he answered while Wine drunk.

You stare at each other for a minute, both equally suspicious of the other for being out so late. You don't have a curfew as staff, but you're not exactly known for being out past 11pm - the boys say you keep 'old person hours' and you don't totally disagree. Johnny's probably wondering why  _ you  _ are awake at 5am...awake and shoeless on their floor for seemingly no reason.

"Did you..?"

"Where were you..?"

You both start trying to talk at the same time, and apologize to each-other awkwardly before it goes quiet and neither of you are able to meet the other's gaze. 

Johnny looks to you distractedly - looking around you, above you, anywhere but  _ at  _ you. He can't meet your eyes, he can feel how glossy and tired they are - they'll give him away for sure.

God. Now Johnny's sweating, he can feel it. Can you...can you smell anything on him? He briefly wonders if he smells like sex. His breath has to smell like alcohol, but he hopes he doesn't have that sticky, pheromone post sex smell coming off of him. He can't fucking believe he ran into  _ you _ of all people:  _ you _ , Mark's little crush and his own person of interest. He'd been avoiding you like the plague this trip and somehow, of course, you popped right the fuck up at the worst possible moment for him. The person he would have rather been fucking stumbles into him right as he comes away from a very unsatisfying one? Just his goddamned luck. 

Johnny's eyes train on a painting on the wall when you clear your throat awkwardly. It absolutely does not cut the tension.

_ You _ don't have anything keeping you in as far as rules are concerned, but Johnny  _ does _ have a curfew, so he's technically breaking a rule and you're the staff that caught him. It would be a whole ordeal if you actually cared about that bullshit, but you don't. You're only concerned that you can turn it around on him eventually, because to be out as the sun rises means he either snuck out, or had someone cover for him - both of which are huge no-no's. You squint at him, running scenarios in your head on what you might say to snitch if it ever came to that - you'd be as unhelpful as possible in implicating him, but you would accept no blame if he tried to throw you under for his own purposes.

Ugh. This is weird...you don't want to do that to him - not at all.

You're friends with Johnny just like you are Mark, but your dynamic is different, so where this would normally be quizzed on what you're doing and  _ why _ with Mark, Johnny doesn't have that same standing.

You look down at your bare feet and instantly remember what you're doing, running cold in fear all over again.

You don't know what Johnny was doing, who with, and at this point you don't really care. You just want that bag, all you can think about is your bag. That very, very full duffel of expensive things that could end yours or Mark's careers. Some of it is...engraved. Fuck your splurging instincts.

"Oooookay," you start, eager to get the hell out of the conversational stalemate, "Have a great…Morning…?"

Johnny finally meets your eyes, the alertness of alarm shining through the fog of tipsiness.

"Oh, yeah...Uh, yep. Yeah, see ya later." He says politely, relief in his voice. He's clearly thankful you're not pursuing it further, and you feel the exact same.

You both nod, a nod that says 'i won't tell if you won't' before breaking eye contact as he presses the button for the elevator.  You wait for Johnny to get in the shiny, mahogany box and you awkwardly smile at each other before the doors start to close. 

When he steps foot inside the elevator, Johnny wonders why the hell you're on his floor, a clipped sense of jealousy hitting him when he thinks about who you must have been up early to see. You're Doyoung's buddy too, maybe he's having you hem something for him? He had been complaining about the rolled hem on a shirt he'd bought yesterday, maybe that was it. He watches your tense face as the doors close, cold metal finally separating you as he tries to stifle the feeling of annoyance that you've got... _ plans.  _ Johnny shakes his head, fuzzy warmth crawling up his neck at the idea of even being envious of a hypothetical...how embarrassing. He can barely fucking walk straight right now, he doesn't need to be thinking about his residual guilt over being attracted to Mark's little boo thang.

When the doors close and Johnny's befuddled face disappears, you sigh exasperatedly, waiting a beat once you're alone just to make absolutely certain that Johnny didn't just find whatever he's looking for floating in his pockets and is on the way back up.  He doesn't need to see where you're going, you think, as you tiptoe down the elevator corridor.

It's odd for Johnny to lie so blatantly about what he's been up to, you think. Although he was telling the truth about the drinking aspect, you'll give him that - he was clearly out with someone. He smelled like his usual cologne but mixed with like, Coors...and a lot of it. Johnny had to have been 4 or 5 drinks deep of  _ something  _ before he crawled his way back up here after messing around. What the hell was he hiding? He's usually a pretty good face liar, but he wasn't doing a good job of concealing anything with whatever he'd downed running laps around him.

Super strange...

If only you weren't so distracted, maybe you would have asked why the hell he's power drinking like Doyoung with no plans on a weekend night, but you don't have space in your mind for it right now. Perhaps a text later.

Popping your head out to peek around the corner when you reach the apex of the hallway, you look both ways -  _ closely _ . The hallway is now like a minefield, and you find yourself stepping onto the floor as if it really were. Shit, it may as well be, because the slightest shuffle outside a door might have it swinging wide open to reveal a member like they're a Scooby-Doo villain that was waiting for you on the other side.  Your shuffle to Mark's door is awkward and tense, and when you finally make it there, you're unsure how loud the door's beep is because you weren't paying attention earlier, or if you'll be caught or - or-

The image of Donghyuck opening the bag, pulling out the collar and bracelets you picked out for Mark pops up in your mind's eye. You can hear the glee in his voice at finding such a  _ great _ item with which to toy with Mark's feelings for the next century...or until the second Mark has a heart attack from embarrassment on the floor at his feet.

Shit...you really gotta get in there. No way around it.

You grit your teeth and open the door as quickly as possible, swinging it wide and flicking the switch.  _ Wow _ . It still very much smells like sex and sweat, despite the fact that you opened the windows before leaving a little while ago...those poor maids - they'll be here soon, so that's even more of a reason to hurry.

The bag is right where you left it, of course, and you jog over and snatch it off the desk chair like you're yanking a sharp object from a child. When it's finally in your hands you turn on your heel, knock the lights off, secure the maid door hanger, and make a fucking  _ run _ for it. You make it to the elevator and smash your finger on the button as many times as possible, and when the doors finally slide open in front of your face, you jump into the empty cabin like it's a life boat and you're on a sinking ship. 

_ Yes! You made it. _

You're quick about leaving the elevator, all but running down the hallway to your room, holding the bag in your arms so it doesn't jingle. The hallway lights are on, now - it's slowly approaching sunrise.  You're gonna be tired, for the rest of the day. Great...but at least you have the toys!  You slide back into your room with a huff, where the comfort of your things and the low, soft sunrise lighting peeking through the curtains is your greeting back.

Relief floods you when you drop the bag to the floor and zero in at the dreamy sight of Mark's sleeping face being washed over with gentle morning light. It's a soft, buttery champagne color of freshly approaching dawn, and his eyelashes glitter under the warm rays. You think he looks like an angel, almost, with his dark, unstyled hair splaying haphazardly on the pillow. He's laying almost exactly like he was when you left, although his legs have starfished without yours to take up some space in the sheets.

The air is quiet in the room, the little conditioning unit having cycled off for the time being, so Mark's slow, steady breathing is the only ambient sound. It's peaceful, still, like an undisturbed pond in a dense forest.

You watch Mark's chest rise and fall with bated breath - a warm, sleeping kitten in his gifted Billie Eilish merch tee - eyes glued to his every detail as if you're surveying classical art. He's always been attractive to you, of course, you'd be an idiot not to see his charms...but the way he looks tangled in your sheets makes something warm bloom in your chest like a budding rose. 

The hair on the back of your neck stands up as the feeling moves down your back, caressing your skin with the soft, velvet hand of awe. This feels different than seeing him a handful of hours ago. It's...private...raw. There's an intimacy about the scene before you, as if your eyes are the only ones this is meant for and you're the only person for which it ever will be. You're almost afraid to move - acutely aware now of how delicate this is, how precarious this small moment of safety and bareness is amongst the lives both of you lead outside of this room itself.  Your chest aches for a moment, and you're not sure why, as you stare dumbstruck at Mark's soft sleeping form. You're not sure how long you've stared, but when he stirs - one of his arms twitching and moving from its place and into another - so does the spell floating around you. 

At that moment the cold, blooming vine of anxiety begins to crawl it's way up your ankles in warmth's stead, curling around your calves and slowly - ever so slowly - enveloping you in dread. 

You're sure you can't move now, your feet are glued to the floor where you stand, watching Mark's gentle features with wispy eyes and a tight throat. You can feel an ache in your chest spread, tightening around you like a heavy, coiled blanket. Tears prick your eyes as the reality of what happened hits you like a ton of bricks, your breath lost to the feeling. You understand what's wrong now - it's everything. Something that took months to build was potentially ruined in 3 measly hours. The tremor of anxiety rocks your bones, kicking your contentment out with a harsh boot.

When he wakes up...what will happen? You have no idea how he'll react when post coital bliss isn't intercepting his emotional state. He may even try to get you fired...

...What if you get fired? You don't think he would, that doesn't seem like him...but what if?

You hear your heartbeat in your chest and ears, breathing quickening when Mark sighs like he's on the tail end of a dream cycle, foot poking out from under the bedsheets.

_ Thump...thump...thump. _

There's a drip in your bathroom, the blip of water falling -  _ was that there before? _

The clock ticks on the wall. 

The air conditioning unit, as if summoned, roars back to life, ripping sound through the room like waves in the ocean.

. . .

The moment is gone.

\-------

You can't sleep. 

There was a space in time between where you were assessing your options in the aftermath - standing in between the bathroom and the desk - and when you shuffled over to sit limply in the reading chair by the window.

You don't know how long you've been sitting here, slumped over on the arm of the chair, watching Mark sleep. It must have been at least a half hour, and he still hasn't moved from earlier, sleeping soundly with a little whistle to his nose.

There's nothing you can do but think.

The what-if's buzz around your head like angry bees, thunking around your skull and making you feel a bit dizzy and overwhelmed. You can feel the catastrophizing spinning, swirling around in your head like water down a drain, but you can't stop it.

You've just done something really, _ really _ fucking serious. What if...you can't even count the many ways this goes wrong on all your fingers and toes. You should have said no, you should have  _ never _ suggested sex that wasn't hypotheticals even be brought into the equation...he's basically your superior. You relinquished all your control the second you agreed to even text him, you're not supposed to be doing that shit either. What a goddamn fool you are for putting down all your chips on one table. I mean...you even left and fucking paper trail! If he decides he doesn't need you after last night, he can just say that you were rude to him and that's it. You’re finished.

You feel like crying. You...you just really like him. That's it - you don't want it to be over.

You thought maybe you'd be able to compartmentalize that feeling, or rationalize it as being  _ only _ sex related, but you can't. You like everything about him - he's thoughtful, silly, and funny in a very odd way. Mark isn't afraid to be himself - often at the risk of embarrassment - and it's one of his most endearing qualities. He's always admirably himself, in all he does, and you want so much to have his presence in your life outside of work - so much that you had been fighting yourself over it on your own time. One day - and you will never tell him this - you had woken up from a dream with him in it and were so thoroughly convinced by it that you were an item that you rolled over in your empty bed and started to try to talk to 'him'. Pining doesn't begin to describe it. 

You let the feeling of acceptance wash over you: you like him, and if he doesn't like you back, your job is probably finished. There's no reversing the ferry, no making the carousel go counterclockwise, no take backs. You've fucked  _ everything up. _ You should have known. 

You look to Mark with angry tears forming in your eyes, blurring his cute little face and making your vision fuzzy.

God. You're an idiot.

Mark's face twitches when he turns his head towards the window and with the dawn light having finally broken through, it's bright enough to start waking him up. You panic when Mark starts moving around his feet like he's waking up, whipping out your phone and trying to look nonchalant, hands shaking as you type out a nonsensical message in your notes app so it doesn't look like you're doing nothing, or worse, were watching him like you were. You pull a leg up with you into the chair so you look like you were comfortable and not crumpled into a heap like a piece of scratch paper.

You blink away the tears as fast as possible, yawning when Mark stretches so it looks like the satisfied tears of a nice stretch and not the goddamned mental anguish you've wrung yourself into.

Mark's morning face is cute, of course, scrunched up and puffy, and your chest aches even harder in anxiety when he sits up a bit to yawn on his own. You briefly look up at him, leaning back farther into the cushioned chair and trying your best to look alert and not like you'd been sitting in misery for 20 minutes.

"H..hey." he finally peeps out, flopping back down onto the pillows and squinting at you through his sleepy eyes. 

Mark can barely see you, his face feels so heavy and tired...he knew he'd be destroyed today, too, but he was hoping it would be better than this. He just needs some Coconut Water and a good nap, probably, but Mark knows there's not gonna be any time for that today. He watches you stare back at him, an odd look on your face - something like the calculated squint you have when you're concentrating on a quick fix and the time is against you. It feels heavy, and he closes his eyes when you don't answer, hoping to god this isn't the beginning of you kicking him out...if you wanted to do that, you would have last night, right? Shit.

"Goodmorning."

You can hear how steely your voice is, and you can't help it. If you were to greet him like you wanted you would have just jumped on top of him and showered his cherubic face in kisses, but that's not gonna fly. Now is not the time.

Mark's hands twitch at your tone and he slides his eyes open slowly, moving his head out of the direct path of the sun's glow when it assaults his eyes. When he moves, he can finally fully see you, although he can't really read your face. He can tell your body language is off, though - tense, distant. He feels himself grow more uncomfortable with it by the second...you've never been this awkward with each-other and he doesn't know what to do. Smiling a sideways grin, he tries to catch your eyes but you're looking at his  _ everything else _ with a restrained eye. When your eyes find his neck, his mind flashes back to hours ago, where you had his neck in your hands and he blushes despite himself, putting a hold over his mouth and looking away.

You choke back the discomfort in your chest at the sight of him awake in your bed, sunlight beaming off the tan glow of his arms, illuminating him like the edges of a cloud. You turn your head to the floor length curtain next to you and reach out with a stiff arm to toss it open. It's an awkward, reach over movement, and you squint when the sun finally spills into the room. It's really bright.

You look to your phone on instinct, checking the time...7:15.

Shit.

"It's 7:15." you say. 

What else is there to comment on?

"Um…yeah. I'm gonna...get up. Brush my teeth and stuff."

You stare at a suddenly very interesting spot in the floor, unable to make eye-contact with him for fear you'll burst into overwhelmed tears. The dominant front you have is strong, but the stony faced routine isn't working right now - you can't bear to look at him.

A quiet "Yeah." is all you can manage as Mark struggles out of bed with his wobbly legs, an ' _ i'm sore _ ' type of groan coming from his mouth when his feet touch the floor.

Mark whispers a solemn  _ fuck _ to himself when his knees strain as he walks - he feels like he got hit by a truck...what the hell? The Spinebreaker is really no fucking joke. He supposes he should have known...that's like eating food that warns you it's spicy and being surprised when it's hot and hurts to eat. Mark feels your eyes on his back when he sleepily shuffles to the spot where he left his change of clothes, and it makes the hair on his arms stand up to be watched so intently by you. Your gaze has always been somewhat probing, but after last night, he feels almost transparent underneath it. He's not  _ uncomfortable  _ with you, really, just...embarrassed. A little exposed. 

Despite it, though, he feels somehow even closer to you and when he runs his toothbrush under the water he wonders if you feel the same. Mark  _ hopes _ you feel the same, but your lukewarm reaction to him this morning has him feeling a little disappointed. He would have loved a few cheek kisses in the morning, but maybe it's too early to ask for that? He's not sure, this is his first time doing...this.

Mark stares at himself while he brushes his teeth, looking over the damage the stylists will have to fix when he rolls into rehearsal. His hair is a wreck from falling asleep with it damp and his eyes are dark...but the rest of his skin looks amazing, somehow. Like he's glowing. He still feels free, too, freer than he has in a long time, and now, spitting and shaking his toothbrush off, all he can think about is how  _ light _ he feels from your contact. He goes about changing for a minute, considering all the ways you might do things like you did to him yet again in the future. Mark can't fucking believe you even went this far, and now he wants to go even  _ further _ . However far you'll take him, he'll go. He's...excited, to say the least, and a little worried about how you'll react to him wanting more. 

You can vaguely hear Mark getting ready in the bathroom, he didn't even bother to fully close the door, and you wonder what the hell you're gonna do later. You're still glued to the chair, frozen in your spot of misery and conflict - hungry, tired, sad...you can't figure out which one you're more of.

Ugh. You hang your head in between your legs. 

You have to do something, get ahead of this, figure it out...you can't just avoid it! You have to communicate with him - right? You owe him that much. This isn't your first rodeo, so why the hell are you acting scared of the horses? Is it maybe because you want the horse in question to be your full time plaything? 

Ugh, gross.

Horrible analogy, but still - this may be a lot to process, but you won't be defeated by it. 

You will not be going down without a fight, that is not who you are. If you lose your job, fine, but you're not going to wallow in the consequences of your actions...you chose this, and you will own it.  _ That _ is who you are.

You rise from the chair with a shake to your form, ignoring the trepidation in your footing and padding over to the cracked bathroom door. You feel fucking _sick_ , but take a deep breath before giving the wood a light rap with your knuckles despite it. 

"Hey, Mark?"

He swings the door open at your voice, a little smile on his face as he finishes pulling his sweater down over his body with his free arm. He holds his little toiletries in one hand and smooths his hair back with water with the other, not bothering to look at you at first. 

You give him a second to finish preening and take the opportunity to scoot into the space to lean on the doorframe, watching him all the while. The clothes he managed to snag don't match, although they could be worse, you suppose. He's got a pair of light washed blue denim jeans and a navy sweater tossed over, sans undershirt, and he's looking very  _ blue _ because of it.

He finally turns to you when his bangs are sufficiently damp, eyes falling to your folded arms.

"What's up?"

He tries to sound nonchalant but he knows he doesn't stick the landing.

"I'd like to talk about this... _thing_."

Waving your hand between your bodies to gesticulate  _ 'thing',  _ you make a point to finally stare at his face and straight into his eyes. Your hands tremble, and you hope he doesn't notice you tucking them into your folded arms so he can't see. You don't care if you look silly or sound nervous, you won't slow down, not when the finish line is so close.

Mark looks back at you with a sheepish grin, his cheeks turning a little pink at your suggestion as he shuffles on his feet.

"Yeah, sure. Okay...I...think I would like to."

Mark can hear his voice, hear the tinge of excitement flow through, and he hopes he doesn't sound  _ too _ eager, just in case this is an ' _ it's not you, it's me _ ' moment. It's hard to say, you're not being as open as you usually are and he probably wouldn't even know what he had done wrong in the first place, if anything. You look back at him in a withholding manner, and he feels nervousness bubble up.

Mark turns away when you don't reply back to keep playing with his hair, gingerly tapping the spot you played with hours ago. It's still tender and he finds himself making a bemused face.

You watch him closely, scanning his body language for any sign that this may be the wrong path to take, but when Mark turns back to you, there are none. He's mostly relaxed, although he is nervously fixing his hair that already looks fine. 

Whew. This is good - you can do this. 

"Alright…" you start, "I know we didn't have a clear time-frame in mind but-"

You cut yourself off as you walk further into the bathroom and absentmindedly grab your own grooming bag. Starting to pull things out in muscle memory, you decide that your shaky hands need to be occupied if you can't control them and you whip out your toothbrush to move through the motions.

"I would like it...I would like it if we did this again." 

You state it like a fact, although the thought takes a while to find form. It's true, definitely - you would like to do it again and again with him, all the time if possible, and that's all you can say.

Mark watches you intently, eyes following your every move in earnest as you wet your toothbrush. When you pop the brush into your mouth and lean on the counter to watch his reaction, scrubbing idly, he only stares back at you with a bitten lipped smile. He doesn’t answer, and stuffs his free hand in his pocket in an abashed manner.

"Marr...Wu yew lie tha?" you garble around the gob of toothpaste on your mouth.

Mark breaks into a full smile at that, giggling his trademark little lilt and moving closer to you as you spit into the sink and gargle. He leans against the counter while you wash the spit down the drain, a goofy chuckle leaving his lips when you turn to look at him with a wet chin.

"Yeah. I would...for sure."

You close your eyes and exhale.  _ Fuck _ . Relief tingles through your hands and feet like electricity. Thank God.

"Okay. We'll need to lay down some more ground rules, obviously-"

"I'll sign whatever you want."

Mark interrupts with absolute certainty and he’s unblinking when you stare each other down. There's no fear in his eyes...no shame, no pride. Your palms warm at the feeling of security it gives you.

“ _Perfect_.”

Your voice is tight, but it’s only from the strain of trying not to giggle with glee. You clear your throat as you zip your things back up, bringing your hands up to survey your face and steady yourself for the last bits of the conversation.  Your face is...rough. Very bad, no good, horrible. You  _ look _ like you’ve had a long night, and you wonder why the hell Mark didn’t comment on it, side-eyeing him as he leans against the counter close to you. He looks back to you innocent as ever, doe eyed even despite the lack of sleep.  You press at the puffiness under your eyes with tender fingers.

“Well. I’m very glad you enjoyed yourself last night, at least, because I’m going to have to make up some shit about my appearance today.”

Mark laughs out loud at your pain, poking you in the side mockingly.

“It’s not  _ that _ bad, dude...”

You scoff, pulling at your cheeks in a demonstration.

“Oh, so you admit it’s bad, then? Wow.”

You both laugh at that, and the tension in the air begins to fizzle away little by little as you finish getting yourself ready...or as much as you can be for the rest of the day.

You’ve managed to fall right back into your old pattern like it’s nothing, and you’re beyond thankful for it - all the anxiety from earlier slips away, and leaves only the vague feeling of anticipation for the future. You feel different, now, all the smug self satisfaction from last night flowing through you yet again as you look at Mark’s side profile.

It’s perfect, this is perfect.

If you play your cards right, he  _ can _ be yours, now, it’s finally clear that’s what he wants.

Mark follows you into the bedroom area as you move to change, leaning against the wall while you hop into a pair of jeans. He watches you slip the fabric over your thighs and thinks about what it felt like to touch you last night, to hold you even as little as he did, and his heart flutters in his chest. 

Mark’s eyes are on you while you toss your old clothes into your dirty laundry sack and back into your suitcase. It feels...interesting. You feel his gaze like you know he’s felt yours. When you turn around towards him, he’s leaning his head on the wall with a goofy, full faced smile.

“What?” you ask, laughing at him while you gather your wallet and tidy up the room.

“Nothing...it’s fine, everything is cool. I’m good.”

You roll your eyes at him and he laughs an exasperated ‘ _ what? _ ’ back at you.  His laugh is infectious, warm and child-like, and it never fails to make you smile, even despite that fact that you’re tired as fucking shit at the moment. You find yourself chuckling at him as you slap his room card back into his palm, ushering him out your door with a whispered promise that you’ll see him later. He hesitates, like he wants to say something, but chooses not to, letting you push him outside the door. He stands there for a second like a puppy, staring back at you, and you have to wave your hands at him in a shoo motion.

“Go! Go, seriously, don’t let anyone catch you. Drink lots of water and eat breakfast. Bye!” you say in a hushed tone, forcing the automatic door to shut in his face.

When it’s finally closed, you exhale  _ loudly,  _ sliding down onto the carpet with your back against the door and your face in your hands. Your body is limp, muscles twitching on their own.

You..? You did it. Foot officially in the  _ goddamned  _ door. That’s gonna be all yours - all the clappy laughs, exhibitionist tendencies, horrible inside jokes and surprisingly tender kisses. Yours.

You sigh dreamily.

Boy, do you have your work cut out for you!

\-------

3:05pm.

You’ve got 20 minutes to sew this  _ giant _ , stupid fucking accessory patch onto Jungwoo’s blazer before they’re out on stage for 1st rehearsal. The fabric is too thick for you to really pierce with the hand needle at your disposal, and your fingers are starting to pinken with blood, which you  _ can’t  _ get on the fucking garment. You curse at the embroidery, vocalizing your every frustration in a long slew of angry chants as you frantically sift through a loose box of pins and thread by your side. You’re seated on the floor, legs spread out like a toddler, pissed off declarations about how  _ this sucks, you hate it, and that you can’t find anything you need  _ tumbling from your mouth like a waterfall all the while.

“ _ Where the hell are my upholstery needles, everyone? What the fuck, where the fuck, and how the fuck-” _

“Hey...how about I…”

The voice that speaks is melodic and lilting as Kevin comes up behind you with quickness, a gentle hand touching your shoulder as he opens his palm out for you to pass him the jacket. He’s looking down at you with an almost amused gaze, as if you’re a child, but you don’t even care, you’re done being pricked to hell from the struggle to push through the thick threads.

“Jesus, yes, please do.” you groan, rising from the floor with popping knees and standing for the first time in an  _ hour _ .

“I can’t take this shit anymore, I’m gonna go do a final wardrobe check on everyone and lint roll.”

Kevin nods absently, not even looking at you as he’s already getting to work, deft hands pushing the needle through like butter. You take a second to watch him, stretching your legs and thinking briefly about all the things you’d said to Mark about those very hands. It’s funny, actually, you did mean it - you’d take a whack at Kevin yourself if you thought he’d have you, but you know him well enough to know he’s not interested. He’s not even here anymore, he’s too concentrated on stitching the silly little patch that the design department head insisted be put onto every other member’s lapels.

You pop your hip loudly, making a sound of strain before spinning on your heels, grabbing the lint roller and heading towards the stage doors the boys had filed past earlier. When you’re outside the dressing room, the darkness of the backstage area shrouds your path as you fumble your way to stage left, where you can hear the voices of the members as they fuck around before things get started.

“Hey!” 

Your voice barely carries out into the closed stage area, and the only person that seems to hear it is the apparent stage manager who looks at you like you’re crazy. Hugging her clipboard to herself in confusion, she balks, and is so far the only person you can see, everyone else is only voices. You hear Donghyuck and Taeil above all else, running vocal warm-ups off one another. You point to your lanyard when the woman motions for you to leave -  _ wardrobe staff _ , it reads _ \-  _ and recognition crosses the woman’s face as she points you silently to where everyone is. You just hadn’t walked out far enough, apparently, and she looks at you like you’re dumb when you trot out onto the stage clapping your hands for attention.

“Kids! Hey!”

Half the boys turn - some ignore you and keep talking, and a few are already standing where they need to be, moving silently through choreo on their own. 

“If anyone needs an adjustment, please see me! I’ll be walking around and lint-rolling everyone before we play through.”

A few affirmations bounce back your way, a couple of jokey ‘bossy’ jokes piping from foreign line as they stretch. You ignore the cloud of commotion to zero in on Mark as he stretches his hamstrings in the middle of the stage, bee-lining for him with the lint-roller outstretched. His undershirt has a few sequins on it, and you know they were catching the thread on his blazer and picking up lint like a motherfucker. He complained about it, but it’s already too late to change so you just have to do damage control.

Mark acts like he doesn’t see you when you approach, acknowledging you only when you’re by his side, motioning for him to turn towards you. He wanted to call your name like an excited little kid when you walked in, but he chose to ignore the urge to blow his cover and waited for you to stride over to him first. He stretches his arms nonchalantly, allowing you to run your hands on the sequins in his shirt, passing the lint roller over spots that have threads and loose tufts of nothing important wrapped around them. 

Mark gets a little warm on instinct when your hand passes a spot in the shirt that’s mesh and the skin of your hand makes contact with his bare chest, and he really hopes you don’t notice that he shivers a bit at the feeling. If you do, you’re polite enough not to toy with him out in the open...although he wishes you would.

“So.”

Your voice is airy and small, and you barely move your lips so that Mark is the only person who hears you. 

Mark leans in a bit while trying to remain as neutral faced as possible.

“How did the fitting with Kevin go?”

Oh...maybe you’re not that polite. 

Mark shrinks away from your hands at your teasing voice, but you only scoot closer, just enough so that it doesn’t seem  _ too _ much to prying eyes.

“It was fine…” he says cautiously, moving to pop his back a bit, nervously scanning his eyes around the room when you move behind him to lint roll the back of his jacket.

You chuckle lowly at him, wondering if he knows that you were the reason he had to sit through a hand hem inseam adjustment with Kevin not even an hour ago. All you needed to do was pass the task to Kevin so you could go get some coffee for yourself, it was actually really simple. You're typically the one who does the sizing and adjustments because you’re better at it than him, but you wanted Mark to be left alone with Kevin after having planted all those ideas in his head about him. You thought it would be funny, and with the way that Mark is responding to your questions, you were absolutely right in thinking that.

“Was it uncomfortable? Were you thinking about what I said?”

Mark stares ahead, arms raised above his head as he lets you get underneath his arms with the roller.

“ _ Yes.” _ He whispers, quiet as a mouse.

You laugh out loud at that, patting him on the back in mirth as you imagine how hard it must have been for him to not...well...get hard. He probably didn’t, but poor Kevin couldn’t have had any idea what he would have done to trigger it had it happened. You’re chuckling when you turn Mark around towards you to get the front of his pants.

“Fuck...that’s hilarious. I’m sorry I did that…”

Mark gasps in betrayal, whipping around to face you.

“ _ Wait...what!? That was you? _ ”

His voice is a little too loud, he hears it, but it’s too late, and the two of the closest members snap their heads to look at the both of you in confusion. 

Yuta and Jaehyun look at your faces quizzically, Yuta giving  _ you  _ an especially long stare down as if you’ve somehow hurt Mark and he needs to do something about it. You and Mark both clam up and look away from each other, you brushing the sticky tape against his hip and down his thigh in silence until they go back to what they were doing. 

When they finally mosey out of earshot, you look back up to Mark and he’s staring down at you with an accusatory look on his face.

“ _ Shhh! Yes, okay, I thought it would be funny to take my break and have Kevin do my job. I’ll be honest...it is pretty funny. _ ”

Mark feels his face blanch, looking down at the top of your head as you run the roller along his body. He keeps thinking about what happened, it’s still so fresh in his mind, and you being so close to him -  _ bent down with your head near his dick - _ is basically fucking torture. If he gets hard right now, literally everyone will notice, there’s no way they won’t with how tight these pants he’s wearing are. Oh, god. Your teasing is so mean, and he wants to hate it, but he doesn’t and that’s even worse for him.

“Ok! I’m done!” 

In an instant you’re moving away from him with a sly smile tossed in his direction, making your way towards Jungwoo without a second wasted. Mark watches you slink away with an annoyed eyebrow twitch, exhaling a sigh through his nose. Once you teach him how to do what you do, he’ll get you back...probably.

He watches you intently as you greet Jungwoo all smiles, lint rolling him as quickly as possible and pointing him backstage to retrieve his jacket from Kevin. Donghyuck jumps in front of you next, pointing to his back and making you laugh at something unintelligible from where Mark is standing out of earshot. He squints at how easily you're moving on from teasing him...he wonders if you really don't care enough to let it affect you, or if you're just that good of an actor. He supposes he'll find out eventually. He trains his eyes on you without diverting while he finishes his stretches, pulling his arms up over his head and popping his neck.  _ Fuck _ he's sore - mostly in the arms and chest area - and he hopes nobody notices how slow he's about to be moving through the motions.

"Still creepin', huh?"

Mark jumps with a yelp at the sound of Johnny's voice behind him, holding his hand over his heart in scandal.

" _ Dude _ , what the hell…" Mark pants, heart hammering in his ears. How fucking long had he been standing there?

Johnny chuckles, raising his hands to him in defense and pushing Mark playfully on the arm.

"Sorry, sorry! I didn't realize how absorbed you were staring at ______. You're still crushing, huh?"

Mark continues watching you as Johnny hovers and idly sips at a water in his hand, standing slightly behind him and watching the rest of the group mill about. Mark doesn't know how to respond without giving something away, so he chooses to stay quiet. How the fuck does he lie and say no when there's clearly something going on? He can't just say he suddenly doesn't like you, that wouldn't make sense...especially not after he had been out drinking with Johnny before going to visit you, and he had gutted himself like a fish over his crush.

Johnny makes a hum sound with his throat when you bend over in front of Yuta to lint roll the ankle of his pants, and Mark turns towards the sound, looking up at the taller man when he closes the gap on their distance.

"I can see why you like them. They're really... nice…"

Mark watches Johnny's eyes follow the curve of your legs and thighs when you squat to reach places on the next member and he feels a bit annoyed by it, for some reason.

"Yeah." is all Mark can manage to say, swallowing back the urge to tell Johnny to stop fucking looking at you like that, but he doesn't.  He has no right to tell anyone anything regarding you. You're not  _ dating _ , you're not exclusive, the paperwork he signed even said so - he's free to fuck whomever as well. You had a brief confirmation in the morning that you're both open to exploring further, but he's not out of the doghouse yet. There was never a mention of being a boyfriend...at all.  Mark puffs air out of his chest when you make eye contact with him while moving to poke a new hole in Taeyong's belt for his loose pants to fit him a bit better.  That's what it looks like from where he's standing, anyway, as you undo Taeyong's belt with almost surgical seriousness and slip it off his delicate waist. He wishes that were  _ him _ you were touching so damn much, but of course, it's not.

Whatever. He'll take what he can get - if you're giving him attention in any regard, he's happy.

Johnny silently watches you and Mark, scanning his eyes from your form to Mark's gaze trained on you like a laser beam.

This is bad. When Johnny looks at you, crouched behind Doyoung, all he can think about is that time he almost asked you to get coffee with him a day or so before he noticed you and Mark flirting like teenagers in heat. He still wants that, he's thought about fucking you for a while - just fucking. You smell nice and your legs are sexy, and you've got a good head on your shoulders. That's all. He's attracted...but...Mark looks so lost staring at you, Johnny can't help but feel like a conniving bastard man for even considering you in such a way. Johnny continues to watch silently between the two of you with a grimace. Yeah - h e's never fucking telling Mark about this shit...he's _especially_ not telling him about seeing you on their floor earlier in the morning. If you were there for some _fun_ with an older member, that would absolutely destroy Mark.

After a while of watching you flit about the room on graceful feet, Mark finally turns to Johnny to say something, but an announcement via mic overhead cuts him off:

_ all staff please exit the camera scope perimeters and return to your stations. _

A few colored stage lights flip on after the mic feedback cuts off - the stagehands clearly setting the scene for filming - and Mark takes a deep breath, steadying himself on his weak bones as he watches you simper away back in the direction you appeared from.  Mark takes a deep breath, trying to force visions of you giving him secret head behind a curtain, or jerking him off behind a stage door as deep down as they'll go. 

Inhale...exhale…

Inhale...exhale...

Show time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mark Lee receptionist...ngl he really do be the cutest guy on earth tho. 100


	3. Blue Gatorade hurts coming up.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny is hungover and Mark now has the unrestrained sexual needs of a middle aged new divorcee. God rest your soul.

_'Goddamn the lights are bright.'_ is the only thought pulsing through Johnny's head. It's all he can do not to shout it out-loud when the Superhuman instrumental finally fades, as he huffs and puffs in exertion in the formation.

He feels extremely weak, annoyed, and very, very much like a _regular_ human today.

With the dance over, he can finally turn his head away from the glaring sun of the spotlight and he grimaces at the white fuzzies in his vision from it. Closing his eyes in sensitivity, he hopes nobody sees how sweaty he is just from the little exercise they'd done so far. They're only on the second dance for God's sake.

On top of being overwhelmingly touchy, Johnny feels a bit queasy, the lights punching down on his stomach, agitating the two Blue Gatorades he'd chugged when he crawled out of bed a handful of hours ago. He tried to sleep it off, shoving a pillow over his head, pulling the curtains lock-tight, and tapping the DND as soon as he stumbled up to pee at 8AM. 

Sleeping proved to be a fruitless endeavor for Johnny, even well after his roommate Hyuck had been so polite as to leave him alone in the room after 9AM. All he did was stink up his sheets with his post drunken sweating, rolling around and agonizing over the night's events. He finally peeled himself out of bed at 12:45pm, with barely any time between showering and complaining to nobody before he needed to be downstairs. His hair was still damp when he shuffled out of the elevator to meet everyone, sunglasses placed firmly on his nose and a thin line of a mouth under his face mask.

He wants it all to go away; the whole thing. The beers, the secrets shared - what did he even tell Mark? He still can't fully remember yet. He most especially wants to forget the awkward, fumbling handjob in the downstairs bar's bathroom he'd given…the one he didn't even get to finish because the recipient said he wasn't ' _good enough_ ' at it to want to continue. 

Johnny wants it gone...but there the memory stays, burned into his retinas with the iron brand of embarrassment.

C'est La fucking Vie.

"Hyung - are you okay? Are you still feeling sick?" 

Donghyuck's lilting voice reaches Johnny's befuddled consciousness through the throbbing between his ears. Johnny cringes, wishing Hyuck would have said it a little quieter as to not blow his cover, but-

' _Huh? Johnny's sick? Is he alright?'_ '

' _Johnny-hyung, is your head okay?'_

A few of the boys pipe up in concern, Doyoung looking like he wants to break away from the hairstylist fixing the volume on the back of his head.

Hyuck knew what was going on: he had watched him silently all through the morning, tip-toeing around the room as he got ready, not saying a peep about it - he knew better than to fuck with hungover Johnny. He had also promised to cover for Johnny on the off chance that he got caught, as long as he bought him more beer later on in the day since the complimentary one's in the minifridge are long gone. 

Johnny glares at Hyuck for saying anything, annoyed to even have to put up more of a front. He'll be getting him _warm_ beers, later. 

Johnny opts to shrug once, shaking his head _yes_ to all inquiries but wanting so wholeheartedly to say ' _absolutely not, no, I feel like ass in a tophat_ '.

When Hyuck merely deadpans back at him, Johnny can't help the annoyed twitch in his eyebrow as he turns on his heels towards the backstage to get away from the pulse of music and lights for a minute.

As Johnny walks away from the crowd silently, the feeling of a few of the boy's eyes following him hits his back as he stalks away past the curtains. When he's finally beyond the oppressive, harsh lights - pressing his back into the wall - he feels something click inside of him, like the pluck of a guitar string.

He needs to vomit. He can tell.

His stomach is in 30 different fucking knots, sour from all the beer he passed through his system last night, worsened by the residual feelings from such a shitty night out. His pride is wounded, most certainly, and he feels disturbingly childish for being so upset that he couldn't move through such a standard encounter. Not vibing with someone is normal...he's just angry that he couldn't finish the guy off because he was only thinking of _you_. His heart wasn't in it - he was too distracted.

Johnny's temples throb, ticking like a clock inside his head, every thrum on the metronome of pain in his brain bringing him closer to an angry meltdown. He wonders how long until he has to possibly boot and rally, he could be back before they need to practice Kick It, right?

Ugh. He can't. He has nowhere to spew all the brightly colored liquids floating around in his gut...the nearest bathroom is snaked all the way back into the area where the stylists are waiting. He can't go back there for no reason, especially not if he might chance seeing you - alone, without any of the other boys around for you to need to pretend in front of - and risk having to talk about your meeting.

You can see right through him, you somehow always have above everyone else...he would probably just break down and tell you, even though he's never actually broken past that level of normal work-friends with you. He has always felt like he _wants_ to talk with you like that, as if your energy, your _aura_ has him wanting to spill every embarrassing secret about himself so he can learn more about you in return. He _hasn't_ so far, he's smarter than that, but now that Mark has finally confirmed his suspicions that there was something between you two means he _absolutely_ can't cross that line now.

Johnny shakes the thought from his head, groaning at how stiff his neck is when it locks up at the action. Fuck...he must have looked ridiculous out there trying to move through choreo in this condition. They started with a warm-up, and he barely made it through _that._

"This is some major bullshit." He grumbles, moving to stand front facing against the wall, trying to cool his forehead on the grey concrete bricks.

' _So stupid.'_

He never even got a chance to drink any coffee today, which is definitely contributing to how edgy he's being.

Johnny wants to just jog back to the bathroom and upchuck like a College freshman - clear himself out - but thinks better of it, settling on eating one of the peppermints he grabbed from the hotel front desk. He had pocketed a big handful in a hazy panic as everyone was boarding their van earlier in the day. Fishing one of the little Lifesavers from his pocket, he examines the package. He's glad he has a few saved, he almost didn't get away with hiding them. When another staff member had made him take them out on his pants, you slid a few in his back pocket without even flinching, looking up at him in silent agreement that it wasn't a big deal. That was the most you had interacted with him today aside from a terse 'Good Morning' and sparse instructions while you were adjusting his stage outfit.

Thank fuck for you, though...you must feel bad that he's hungover if you're willing to chance getting chewed out on his behalf for letting him keep an easily slung item in his pocket. That has to be what it is.

I mean, he told you he had been drinking? He didn't lie about it. You would have known, anyway, he had to have been swaying in place during that hallway standoff.

Johnny curls his face in disgust when the candy finally touches his tongue - the last thing he wants is a fucking mint in his mouth - but he eats it anyway.

Sucking on the chalky thing, he represses a gag as he makes a deal with himself that instead of getting sick, he'll just go and eat the saltiest, sweetest, butteriest thing on the menu at the Diner down the street after filming. He's certain the makeup artists would be furious if he went to vomit and came back smelling like a Music Festival bathroom before the real show began.

Shit...everyone would be, and they would be right to. It would be his fault for getting piss drunk the night of an important shoot, and he's lucky he's even holding out on any semblance of normalcy right now. 

He just really, really wanted to have something else to think about after Mark had told him that; ' _uh, um, Hyung - I really like ____. I think I, like, figured it out the other day. What should I do?'_.

Johnny, of course, had to play Big Bro to him and tell him to 'buck up, and go get 'em, champ!'

...When what he _really_ wanted to say was 'I don't fucking know, Mark, because I also want to get my dick up in that.'

But he's an adult. And a mentor. He's not going to jeopardize his relationship with Mark for a piece of ass, no matter how tantalizing. Ironically, entire civilizations have been lost to this same shit, but he hopes he might be stronger than the globe's worldly ancestors.

Johnny really just fucking wishes he could sleep with you, like, once, so the fantasy is destroyed and he can go about his business. Nobody can live up to the full fantasy, and a one-and-done would set him straight. He won't get that, though. Not for Mark's sake, he just has to suck it up and fuck someone else until his interest wanes.

Johnny steels himself at that, shaking the annoyance and jitters from his limbs. Biting _hard_ in frustration at the candy in his mouth - crushing it between his molars like he wishes he could crush the feelings swirling around in his head - he takes a _big_ breath.

 _Now's not the time to have a hungover meltdown_ , he thinks, moving back towards the stage right at the same time as an overhead alert begins to call his name in a thin voice;

_'Johnny back to the stage, please. Johnny, back to the stage.'_

The person comes across as vaguely annoyed, and he flinches - _fuck_ , he was gone too long. 

"I'm here, I'm here!"

He tries to sound as chipper as possible while he slides back into place, smiling at anyone he makes eye-contact with as he swallows the last bits of candy in his mouth. A makeup artist is on him in seconds, grumbling about _'getting more sleep_ ' as he pats a concealer brush on Johnny's puffy under-eye.

Johnny blinks idly, taking the time to look around the room at everyone getting touched up, and squints, feeling vaguely annoyed at the world right at this moment. He might still be a little drunk, if his overall demeanor is any indication - drunk _and_ hungover. Wonderful.

From the far corner of the room, Mark looks at Johnny, meeting his eyes sympathetically as a makeup artist touches up his own forehead and tweaks his bangs.

Johnny looks away quickly, twinge of pain gripping his heart.

Literally all he can think about when he looks at Mark is seeing _you_ on their hotel floor, _shoeless_ (already hooked up...maybe getting ice? he doesn't know) staring back at him in guilty nervousness. Yeah, looking back, even he could tell through his drunkenness that you weren't there for something work related.

When Johnny looks back up to him, Mark is staring at the floor, face twisted in an emotion Johnny's having trouble deciphering. It's like worry, but somehow, somehow...he's eager for something. Mark seems agitated and restless, if anything, but Johnny supposes he must be a _teeny_ bit hungover, too. 

Although...Mark did leave much, much earlier than him, and Johnny continued downing shots like an idiot until about 4AM. Mark had two beers - the first at 11pm with late Dinner and the second he nursed until it was warm at 1AM.

So. Him being hungover would be a stretch, but he sure looks tired, so that must be it.

 _'Fuck_ ,' Johnny thinks _'today just really isn't my lucky day…'_

\-----

"Wait, he did _what?"_

Kevin giggles at your tone, slapping his leg at your incredulous expression.

"Yeah...Mark- he totally…"

Kevin can't speak through his giggles, a little rasp in the trilling sound. He has to pause and take a breath.

" _Whew -_ He...totally got a little hard, it was the funniest shit…"

Kevin switches to a silent laugh and looks to the ceiling, covering his mouth and curling into himself.

Oh, _lord_. 

No wonder Mark was so visibly embarrassed out on the stage when you'd inquired. 

Fuck...you're evil. Pure evil.

You feign horror back at Kevin as if the whole thing wasn't orchestrated by yours truly on a whim.

" _I can't believe that! Why do you think he…_?"

As if you don’t know...truly wicked.

Kevin shrugs, amusement all over his cute little face. He is _so smug,_ clearly enjoying the fact that he was able to illicit that reaction from Mark. Little does he know, it was actually you that was the catalyst for that, but you'll let him have this. He is beyond pleased as he looks back at you from his spot on the couch, smoothing his slacks over his crossed legs as he chuckles.

"I have no clue what it's about." He finally sighs, cutting through his bubble of laughs with an amused smile.

You stare back at him in mock horror, a face that says: ' _I just can't believe it!'..._ but you can. This is exactly what you were hoping would happen, and it panned out exactly how you thought it would. Kevin _loves_ a good story to tell, so you knew he wouldn't be offended by Mark having a little unprovoked mishap...a dickhap, if you will. It happens a lot, actually, because you're touching people so intimately, sometimes things happen. It happened with Taeyong and yourself once, which you're positive Kevin will probably mention - he's the first person you saw after it happened and you _had_ to tell someone. I mean...Taeyong got hard from a lace collar adjustment! You were just checking his neck size for the accessory and he was so oddly into it, all but running out of the room when you were finished. It was very, _very_ fucking funny at the time, but you doubt he remembers now.

You sip at the watered down iced Coffee in your hand, shaking your head in pretend disbelief to really sell the scene to Kevin. He looks back to you, the smile on his face nothing short of overwhelmingly satisfied, and laughs again.

You're both quiet for a minute, until Kevin finally leans in, biting at the straw from his own iced coffee in cheekiness, reveling in the drama of the moment as he shakes his near empty cup. He pauses.

You lean in as he builds the interest, wanting to know his take on Mark's clear attraction to him. He's eating it up so far...

" _He_ _seemed really nicely sized, though…_ "

You gasp in fake an embarrassed _Ugh_ , tilting away from him while pushing Kevin's shoulder and watching in faux scandal as he falls back onto the couch in a fit of self satisfied giggles. You laugh together, him on the couch and you in the plushy single chair across from him, sipping at your coffees with the flair of two old biddies during tea time.

Kevin thinks you're enjoying his story, which you are...but you're mostly enjoying hearing about how your new toy has been fairing on his own. You've already been able to influence him thus far, and it's not even been a full day yet - that's hilarious and arousing all at once.

He's right, though, Mark's perfect...it's kind of infuriating. He's got a nice curve - towards his bellybutton - perfect pink head, decent thickness, trimmed nicely and all. He's not particularly large, but so aesthetically pleasing overall that it doesn't matter. The blindfold was your saving grace when he finally undressed earlier in the morning, because you just stared at him for a while in a way that would have definitely made him self conscious had he been able to see you doing it.

"So…"

Kevin whips out his phone and starts texting someone idly as he speaks.

"Isn't this like with Taeyong...what were you doing again?"

There it is. He's not even engaged anymore, scrolling through his instagram with the ends of a smile fading from his lips. 

You choose your words carefully, mulling it over in your head.

"Taeyong seemed to...really enjoy the lace collar fitting for his album jacket shoot."

Kevin pops his little head up from his phone.

" _Oh, yeah!_ That's what it was! I swear, he's into that freaky shit. He has to be."

You nod absently, whipping out your own phone to scroll through your messages, not daring to engage him on that ' _freaky shit_ ' comment for fear of arousing suspicions.

Neither of you say much else after that, but Kevin still idly giggles to himself every now and then, toying with the straw in his cup noisily. 

Your phone's pretty dry - nothing too out of the ordinary - few friends that don't know you're out of the country hitting you up, one from your Boss asking about where her sketch-book is, and another unread message from Mark.

The unread message was resolved about two seconds after he sent it, and you still haven't bothered to open it.

' _Did you even get any sleep last night?'_

It reads.

You had seen it from your locked phone when the notif popped up, as you were rounding the corner from the bathroom right as Mark was moving to go towards it. Luckily, the little hallway was secluded enough that you were able to stand there and talk to him for a second, instead of 'ships in the night'-ing and pretending everything was normal.

He, shifty footed, took the little time to sheepishly ask if you ' _saw my text_?'.

You told him you did, that you had slept next to him for a while in the night, and then woke up early to get a jump on the day. He seemed satisfied with that, leaving you in the hallway with a slight, meaningful touch to the arm and a soft ' _good'_ before going about his business.

It left you so, so warm the way his ' _good'_ fell from his mouth, like he was proud of you, or something. It was like he was praising you, and even the _implications_ of that from him was enough to have you smiling all the way back into the dressing room.

You had lied to him then, of course, so the praise was unwarranted, but you soaked it up nonetheless.

In reality, you had _actually_ passed out into the bed where he had laid moments before leaving the room, breathing in his scent before crash landing into a hard sleep until about 12:35PM. You were jolted awake only by the sound of a jackhammer outside your window, likely downstairs but sounding exactly like it was right outside your door. You had scrambled like Fred Flinstone after seeing the time, trying to get out of bed and make it look like you hadn't just been fully asleep before meeting everyone down by the van at 2:00PM.

You made it in time, luckily, hustling down there with a pep in your step. Even sleepless, the events that had transpired just hours before then had you feeling energized, giddy almost. 

A few of the boys were also in high spirits, excited for the day, others were treating it as a business-as-usual kind of deal...but _one_ of them was clearly having a rough fucking start.

Johnny looked downright _miserable_ , climbing into the van on stiff legs - dazed and confused was a bit of an understatement. He kept that same pitiful, low energy well through all his primping and preening at the hands of others. He even went as far as to swat away the hands of a stylist when she poked at his puffy, post drunk-tank face. 

You wonder how he's been doing out there...he can't have been good during their practice run.

The stylist he pissed off tried to take some candy he was stashing in his jacket, but you slipped him some anyway out of pity. He must be feeling extraordinarily shitty out there.

"Hey, Kevin…"

You pull your teeth at the straw in your now empty Coffee, chewing at the plastic in thought.

"How long until they start the live taping?"

Kevin doesn't respond at first, he's repeatedly watching a gif of a Cat walk around lipstick tubes and not knock anything over.

"Kevin."

"Huh-? Oh...uh-"

He looks at the shiny, silver watch on his wrist.

"15 minutes, then they've got about two hours of work, and then we pack it up and go."

Two hours. Two hours isn't so bad.

You briefly consider messaging Johnny on KKT. You rarely message him, if ever, the most you've ever asked is about his color preferences for more casual events, and if he likes certain prints. Sometimes you'll negg him about something relevant to what happened during the day if you saw each-other, and sometimes he'll send you a wholesome dog video which you'll reply with the appropriate amount of line emojis. It will usually fizzle from there.

You're better friends in real time, where you can joke a little more evenly - a little less stiff than through text. You have a better dry joke rapport with him than Mark, you feel bad after saying funny-mean things to Mark, but Johnny always takes it in stride. Your friendship is definitely no more than co-workers, but just like with Mark, you can sense he sees you in a bit of a... _way._

You can feel his eyes on you sometimes, when you're working, but you choose to ignore it. You're sure he just likes having another English speaker to talk to.

Although...you swear, this one time, he shivered when you were giving him an inseam adjustment. It was _miniscule,_ so small that if your hands weren't already on his thighs you wouldn't have noticed...but you did. Or at least, you think you did. He was scrolling on his phone at the time and didn't even look up, but you swore to Kevin that it had happened. He didn't believe you, of course. Johnny? No, not him. He's a stone cold professional flirter, nothing gets to him!

You shake the thoughts from your head. Not right now, that's not important.

You open the KKT app and think to send him a quick message...hovering the send arrow with uncertainty.

What about Mark? Will mentioning that moment just open a whole can of worms? You don't even have a good lie set in place for what you were doing on their floor.

No, no. You tap out of the app and set your phone down.

Not doing that.

\-------

" _Hyung, how much longer until we go back to the hotel_?"

Mark speaks idly to Johnny in Korean, hoping not to arouse the interest of all the english speaking staff surrounding them that are working for the venue.

Johnny shrugs back a weak pull of his shoulders, something noncommittal and disinterested.

"I dunno, man. I honestly couldn't even tell you how long we've been here already."

He doesn't even think before he's sluggishly responding in Konglish, mixing the two languages in a very disjointed way. His head is fuzzy, and he doesn't need to yarf anymore but he _definitely_ needs some Water. Or an I.V. 

Mark blinks at the older Man, watching Johnny as he adjusts his mic pack against his back and grimaces while bending down to let a stylist sponge his sweat.

Why the fuck is Johnny so tired? He could have sworn Johnny said he was gonna finish that last beer and head back up to his room right after him. Did he stay a while longer? That wasn't a good idea at all, look at him now - he's one hard push away from dehydration. Johnny is the picture of a long night out - slack limbs, sore posture, watery eyes. It worries Mark a bit to see his strong, resilient hyung reduced to such a state. Johnny must have hit it hard after he left...but why would he lie about it? He silently hopes everything is okay with him and makes a mental note to ask later...Johnny would probably tell him, right?

Mark mumbles under his breath about _'needing some water'_ before politely breaking away from the hairstylist blotting at the sweat on his forehead. She lets him go, reluctantly, telling him he needs to be back in 10 minutes.

That's enough time, he thinks, as long as he hauls ass to and from.

He just wants to pop into the back to see what you're doing - nay - _needs_ to. 

The compulsion to be around you now is stronger than ever, he could feel himself wanting to be wrapped in your arms every second you were near during all his other stage prep. Magnetized by a crushing desire, even though you had fulfilled his need so wholly only hours before, his body aches for your touch. He can feel it in his chest, that yearning to be close. All that you had done was sexual - you had given him something he desperately needed - but at the same time, having your lips locked onto his so tenderly through most of it breathed a fluttering intimacy into your touch. The ghost of your warmth laying behind him still lingers on his skin. He hadn't realized how badly he wanted that from you until your mouths had interlocked, sliding together like a perfect puzzle.

During Makeup? He wished it was you running a soft bristled brush across his lips. Hair? He could almost swear the stylists fingers were yours, grabbing at the dark strands and twisting it in your grip. Having someone touch the soft spot on his head was almost a little too much, too, and he was struggling not to get turned on through every minute of his dressing.

He wants more from you, more than you have talked about yet - what even are you, now? Mark doesn't really know. In simpler terms, he would say you are his current Dom. He doesn't know much, still, but he thinks that it's appropriate to call you ' _his'_ dom, right? He really wished the conversation wasn't cut short when you made him go back to his room this morning. He could have listened to you talk all day about the things that were in store for him, but maybe that's part of the fun? He's not sure.

Still, Mark isn't stupid despite lack of knowledge in this arena. The cadence of what little conversation you _did_ have would suggest that you see him sexually, and not at all the way he sees you, but he'll hold out onto the hope you'll like him back until reality pries the dreams from his cold, dead hands.

He still can't believe his plan worked out like this.

It was miraculous, actually, the way things fell into place. He had concocted a dumb, harebrained scheme to test the waters with you, see how serious you were about your flirting, and somehow ended up in your bed within a few days of it. He couldn't have ever dreamed it would end up like this.

Intially, all he was going to do was ask about some sex stuff. That was it. He was hoping that he would get some satisfaction by proxy with you speaking to him about it - like sexting but for desperate people - and that he would be able to use that as jerk off fodder. 

Never in a million years would he have thought he would divulge such intimate details to you...spilling ALL his beans about his ongoing issue with gratification, but something in him clicked when you confirmed your identity as a Dom. Reading your text of (yes, he remembers exactly what it says) " _Actually, Mark, I'm a Dominant in the community._ " had turned him on so much that he had stopped short in the stairwell walking back up towards his room.

He remembers it clearly. 

He had taken the stairs to avoid any of the members looking over his shoulder as he texted you, and the second he read that he went weak in the knees, faltering on a step and having to stand in place while he fought back a hard-on. He was _winded_ from it.

It wasn't so much as shock as it was an overwhelming feeling of arousal at the image of you, clad in leather, standing over someone and spanking them with a smile. 

The thing is: the whole interaction by the van, the thing that solidified everything, was based on a hunch. Mark knows he's nosy, the members constantly tell him so, but on the topic of you he feels extra super special nosy. He's always asking others about you, covering it up with little excuses, but nonetheless scouting for as much information on you as possible. He knows you would tell him things if he asked, but he just can't. The way you look at him makes him feel so... _different._ He has a hard time outright asking you about yourself, although you offer up plenty. 

Still, one day, while you were pinning at his ankles, he had been holding your phone for you so you didn't have to set it on the ground.

It had buzzed in his hands, illuminating a clipped message that read; _'Hey , ____, this is Yoora with CLUB DESIRE. Don't forget about the meeting this week'_.

Mark knew he had seen that name before somewhere, heard someone talk about it...Yuta, he had thought. It wasn't until he got home and Googled in the safety of his room that he remembered where he had seen it.

He had read about it on a listicle of Seoul's most popular BDSM clubs. He had happened upon the article _months_ back, and when he looked at the address on Google, everything about you began to make sense. It wasn't confirmed, but the rumour he had overheard about you being a - what did that makeup noona say...deviant? The rumour that you were sexually _promiscuous_ had followed on your heels since he had known you, and he was never sure why until right in that moment. 

People were afraid of you for doing what you do, and now that he has been at the mercy of your hands, he knows that they should be. 

You are _powerful_ , yet unassuming - he never would have guessed if not for that text. The ability to control and seduce, do something so intimate and detailed with artful skill, flows like a river within you. You treated him like an art project, and he has _never_ felt so attended to than when he was in your arms.

Mark bites back the tendrils of arousal for what feels like the millionth time in the day, fast walking back towards the dressing rooms where he assumes you're still waiting.

His palms are shaky when he finally grabs the doorknob to the dressing rooms and he curses at himself for being so... _on._ What you did to him, it feels like he's fully awake, like every muscle and cell in his body has been electrified and rejuvenated - even through his soreness. He's _alive_ , acutely in tune with his body in a way he hadn't been in months. Of course...this means that all his failed attempts at jerking off have now compiled into a cavernous reserve of unbridled horniness, one of which you seemed to have unlocked just by existing.

Mark sighs when he swings the door open and sees you and Kevin in the lounge area near the back of the room, scrolling on your phones and chatting. When he crosses the room, a few long, hurried strides, you both finally notice him.

There's a glint in your eye when Mark rounds the chair you're perched in, and you wave politely, a hum of acknowledgement on your lips. Kevin greets Mark with a chirpy _'heeey_ ' to which Mark bows respectfully at.

He doesn't have enough time to hangout, so he cuts to the chase.

"Can I...talk to you for a minute, ______?"

You blink up at Mark, trying to get a read on him. He looks flustered, but then again, he always looks like that when you make eye contact.

"Yeah...sure. Wardrobe malfunction?"

Mark nods.

"Yeah. _A bit of an embarrassing one._ "

Kevin sighs a sympathetic 'yikes', not even bothering to look up from his phone as you whisk Mark away to the changing partitions.

There's a hurry in Mark's steps - he must not have very much time - and you're watching his back as he leads the way with urgency. It doesn't _look_ like anything is wrong with his outfit. What could he possibly have done?

Mark reaches the tiny, floor length curtained changing room before you, ushering you in with an urgent wave after he yanks back the curtains. 

When you're finally enveloped in privacy, Mark wastes no time in facing you, asking for permission to hug you.

"Like, is that cool with you, and all? I mean, only if you're okay with it."

It's a bit of a surprise to hear him ask for attention so meekly, so you allow, and in seconds he's wrapping his body around you, using the momentum to push you against the wall. The space is so small it doesn't take much for him to be able to mold himself to you, sweaty and a little disheveled from their practice rounds of their mini-setlist. He only wraps his arms around your shoulders in a hug, nothing else, and you're flabbergasted at how quickly it has escalated. 

Didn't he want nothing to do with _affection_ only hours ago? This is different. Not that you don't like it, but Kevin is a good 300 feet away and eavesdrops like a motherfucker.

" _Hey, Mark-"_

You whisper is surprised, and you gently tug on the hair at the back of his neck to get his attention. Mark huffs a hot little sound, pushing his lower body against you even further, closing his eyes at the feeling of your hands in his hair again. 

Is he…?

" _Mark."_

Your voice changes to a threatening whisper, and you bring his ear to your mouth so it amplifies the sound and he can understand how serious you are. You let go of his hair - he clearly likes thay too much and you need to splash cold water on this situation ASAP.

" _Are you hard? If you're horny, you can’t just throw yourself at me. You need to control yourself."_

Mark peels the both of you away from the wall when you nudge him forward, looking a little guilty as he shifts. He still hugs you with his arms, his grip is unwavering, but there's something unusual about the way he's looking at you. The neediness present in his eyes is almost exactly the same as last night. How is that even possible? He should be worn out like an old shoe. 

You're a little impressed, actually, shifting in his embrace to really give him the eye.

" _Yeah, but I'm so fucking horny-"_

You cut him off with a shush, signaling he needs to lower his voice. He nods, whispering even softer, the slight rasp to his tone coming on clearer from the lack of volume.

_"I'm horny as fuck, like, forreal. I don't know why."_

You shake your head, bringing your palms up to gently cup Mark's damp cheeks.

Hearing him admit it so openly is actually a major turn-on, and he doesn't even look the least bit ashamed, looking down at you through his dark eyelashes. That's quite an improvement, too, almost a total 180 from his demeanor during the beginning of your first session. His change of heart has you considering helping him out in the pants department, just for the satisfaction of knowing you're so _good_ that you could open up someone shier to the idea of public _anything._ You pocket the thought for another time.

Nothing is happening in this room, that you're sure of. This isn't sexy risky, this is life ruining risky.

" _Listen...I don't care, Mark. This is too dangerous. What did you think was going to happen_ ? _Did you expect the same treatment as last night? They would hear you all the way out onto the stage if we did that._ "

Mark is flustered, now, he can feel his cheeks heat up under your hands. He hadn't expected _anything,_ really, but the second you had the long, velvet curtains closed shut all he could think about was having his arms around your body. It was involuntary. 

Him getting hard was just a side effect of all the amorous feelings spilling over...but you're right. You always are. He's being disrespectful of your feelings.

Mark exhales.

" _No, yeah. I'm sorry…it's the adrenaline from practice. I'm way up right now._ "

Mark feels the dregs of guilt pang in his chest and he releases your body, slinking his arms from around you reluctantly. He's not sure if you bought the excuse - it seems like you didn't, but are being nice. He's not sure how to navigate this fucking _need_ , he's never felt it before. This is all new territory.

" _It's okay, Baby. Just don't tackle me like this again - ever. I choose when and where, not you._ "

You watch as Mark pauses with a nod, looking around the tiny space and finally to the floor in modesty. He's mulling something over in his head, you can tell. It's a quiet second before he leans down, ghosting his mouth over the shell of your ear. You twitch when his breath tickles like the whisps of windswept hair over your face, and it has you moving closer to him on instinct, reaching down to take his hands in yours.

" _I'm sorry...Master._ "

You inhale sharply, and Mark pulls his head around to look at your face in a snap, like his ears were just _waiting_ for that sound. Arousal pools in your belly, and you stare back into Mark's eyes in warning. You grip his hands tighter and he squeezes back, eyes never leaving yours. He, in a display quite different from what had shown you of himself so far, tilts his lips near yours, just far enough away that you can feel them move when he speaks.

" _Do you...do you like it when I call you that?"_

His question is so faint, a slithering whisper from his tongue, but you still hear it.

And the answer is yes, hell yes you do, and now he knows. You can see it in his eyes, he knows how to get what he wants from you _already..._ he is truly an ace. You can't even be angry that he bumrushed you not 30 seconds ago, all but dry humping your leg for friction. 

Fuck. You're already weak for him...ooooooh, boy.

You shift your bodies apart, shaking his grip from yours to break up the moment, the tension between the two of you is rising too quickly for comfort.

You don't feel like losing your job today, and if this goes on any longer, you'll get fired in such a way that the only family friendly explanation for your termination would be 'got caught with their pants down'. What you're imagining is more like 'got caught with a dick in their throat' but eh, semantics.

You breath out a huff through your nose.

" _Don't worry about me, Mark. Worry about what I'll be doing to you later now that you've gone so far as to push my buttons."_

He perks up, shoulders attentive...eager.

" _Later…_?"

 _"I'll text you_." 

Mark nods at that, turning from you to face the mirror to his right. He has a thought, a brief glimpse of what he wants to be doing, and before he thinks better of it his hands are already moving down his body.

Closing his eyes with parted lips, he begins to adjust his erection in his pants, shifting so it's less obvious for when he goes back out. That's what he makes it look like he's doing at first, anyway, until he slides his eyes back open and catches your gaze in the mirror. Mark feels something like bravery swell in his chest as he snakes his hands around his growing erection, something new and exciting. He wants you to see him - want to know whay you'll do about it.

You watch him as he toys with himself for a second before he exhales a deep, shaky breath. Palming himself through his tight pants and tracing himself through the fabric, he lets his lips fall open in a silent gasp.

You stare Mark down through the scraped up, foggy mirror - silent, stunned by his display.

He watches back, brave as ever, through lowered lids. Mark thinks about how weird it felt to be watched by you earlier in the morning, and how different it is now, seeing the flames of arousal burn in your irises as you look back at him.

The way he's looking at you, it's obvious that he wants it bad. Perhaps playing that little trick on him with Kevin was a bad idea, you clearly have more of an affect on him then you previously thought. Fuck, he would probably moan your name right now if not for the risk of it all...

Fucking _tease_. 

Mark swallows a dry sound that breaks through the tension, and whispers as soft as possible. 

" _I'll be waiting."_ He finally says, worrying his lip between his teeth as he finally stops moving to cup himself.

You squint at him.

Yeah. Of course he will...and just for this, you're gonna let him _have_ it. The plan was to invite him into your play space once you get back home, but it's looking like he's gonna get another angry go around tonight. You may even ride him like you'd thought about earlier - if he's down, it's all over for him tomorrow. He'll _really_ be too tired to move.

You move to stand behind Mark, turning his face towards you to press the tiniest peck on his lips. He tries to reciprocate, but you've pulled away before he can.

" _I know you will be, baby. I won't make you regret it."_

**Author's Note:**

> this is based on a dream because i have a recurring fantasy that i'm the only Dom in a harem of submissive air sign men. mark is a leo but idc and will not ever care.
> 
> anyway
> 
> gender neutral, dominant reader *run DMC voice* it's like that, and that's the way it is. HUH!
> 
> reader alignment: domvers
> 
> NO BETA, I AM GOD AND WILL FIX AS I PLEASE
> 
> no further questions, your honor.


End file.
